The Homefield Advantage
by Amory Sparkly Bat
Summary: Time for reunions has come, along with one question: Will Kurt's heart be swept away by the first boy to give him COURAGE? Or will his old foe-now a *professional* sweaty, chubby bully  for the NFL! -intercept his old crush & run with him for a touchdown?
1. Ch 1: Kickoff

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ** Much of this story's formatting was *horribly* ruined when uploaded to fanfiction[dot]net. I HIGHLY suggest that you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replacing bracketed words with the symbols)

You will have a much better reading experience!

**Summary:** Seven years since graduation and Mr. Shue and Coach Beiste have finally overcome Sue's attempts to curtail their plans for a Class of 2012 reunion. Now that Kurt, home from Hollywood to help his ailing father, is getting a chance to see all his old friends once more, will his heart be swept away by the first boy to give him COURAGE? Or will his old foe—now a *professional* sweaty, chubby bully (for the NFL nonetheless)—intercept his old crush and run with him, straight for a touchdown? Written for this meme, slightly altered from NHL to NFL.  
**  
Disclaimer:** Not mine. None of it. I don't own Glee, I don't own the Dallas Cowboys. Those are Ryan Murphy and Jerry Jones' to do with as they please! All I own is an iPod and season tickets to the Cowboy's stadium. So if ya sue me, well, that's all you get. (Actually, no, you will not get my tickets because I will run from the law before giving them up!)  
**  
Note:** I decided to make Dave a tight end even though he played right guard in high school mainly because he's just plain not big enough to be a pro offensive guard. High school, sure. Pro… you kinda have to be the sort of guy that ducks and turns sideways when entering through a door. He could have grown a few inches after high school, but not enough to match the gladiators we call guards and tackles! Tight ends are kind of like offensive linemen with catching abilities. Big, able to slam the crap out of you, but can run and catch, too. Plus I just like to talk about his tight end. ;P

**NOTE ON CONTENT/RATING:** Most of this story is an R-level rating. What smut there is has been edited down to a R/M rating. I will make a note in these edited chapters. If you are of legal age in your area of residence and would like to read the un-edited story, you can find it at sparklybat [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] homefieldadvantage

**Ch 1: Kickoff**

It was time to get his badass on.

Dave Karofsky tightened his fists, grinning a little maniacally at the small mirror he'd stuck onto the inside of his locker door. He took in a deep breath as he rolled tense shoulders, the adrenaline shooting through his veins causing sweat to drip down the side of his face. He glared at his reflection for a moment longer before letting out a little huff of laughter. Still a sweaty, chubby bully. It was amazing how both everything and nothing could change so much.

He studied the mirror, not taking his eyes off of his reflection as he tossed back a shot of Gatorade, adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, and yanked a small towel from the waistband of his pants, running it roughly across his stubbled face to palm away the sweat. Yeah, he was a sweaty, chubby bully, alright. That's what they damn well paid him for.

He could do this. He would teach those bastards a lesson once and for all about pissing off one Dave Karofsky. They thought they could just waltz in, mess with *him*, and walk out with all their body parts intact? Ha. He could smell the blood already. The crunching of bones was like music to the ears. No one would be walking away tonight. He would slam those motherfuckers so hard into the ground that they'd spend the rest of their goddamn lives in a hospital bed—

"Yo, man, you ready to kick some ass?" Dave started slightly as a lineman's enormous palm clapped down onto his equally enormous shoulder, then bared his teeth at him with a laugh.

"Oh yeah. Gonna put those bitches in their place!" Another grin and he was alone again, once more staring seriously into his locker. He slowly lifted his fingertips, brushing them against his lips, then reaching out to gently touch his little mirror.

More sweat dribbled down his face.

Breathe in, breathe out. He glanced nervously over his shoulder then shook his head at his own paranoia. No one could see around his fat ass and probably wouldn't give a shit even if they did. The boys would probably think it was a picture of his sister or something. Very slowly he tugged down the mirror, a tiny smile crossing his face as he gazed at the photo behind it.

Dave wasn't sure if you could swallow down something as abstract as loneliness, but since the feeling was rising in his gorge like a wave of vomit, he did his best, licking his lips anxiously.

What the hell was *wrong* with him, that he stood there every freakin' game, staring sappily into the eyes of Lady Gaga and Elton John's bastard child? He was a freakin' titan, a gladiator, three hundred pounds of pure DANGEROUS—he cut the thought off abruptly. Screw that shit. Who was he kidding? He could grind every dude from here to Never Never Land into a pile of bloody guts and he'd still be a coward. A sweaty, chubby coward.

It had been seven years, but it might as well have been forever. Forever and seven years since he'd last spoken to the boy whose simple *presence* had caused everything Dave thought he knew about himself to be ripped into little pieces of sparkle and stuffed it into Coach Sylvester's confetti cannons, where it would wait patiently for the day that it could all blow up in his face. Seven years since he'd last tugged on Fancy's metaphorical pigtail. Seven years since he'd swallowed his schoolboy crush and bowed to the will of millions of psychotic fans and a bunch of sponsors with nine hundred dollar putters shoved up their butts. Seven years and he was still just a sweaty, chubby, hulking *coward*.

Dammit! He slammed his hand against the wall of lockers, then ducked his head in embarrassment as one of his teammates looked at him strangely. Dave stared at nothing until the other man looked away with a "what the hell?" look plastered on his face, then glanced around again at the other guys trolling the locker room. Assured once more of the fact that no one gave a shit why he'd been standing in front of a mostly empty locker for the past fifteen minutes, Dave turned back to the photo, running his fingers along the small of headshot of a young man wearing a sparkly pink scarf, a hat full of feathers, and a bright grin.

The word 'COURAGE' was scrawled across the bottom in messy black letters.

Needless to say, Azimio had *not* been watching when he'd "defaced" this particular yearbook picture of Kurt Hummel. A smile tugged at Dave's lips once more as he *really* studied the picture, tonguing his cheek in mild amusement at the boy's outfit.

Most days he felt like he'd kill to have as much courage at that pretty little boy, but he did have to admit there were times when all the feathers in that leopard print hat just plain made his eyes hurt.

"You ready to go, Demo?" Coach called out, grabbing Dave's gloves off the bench behind him and tossing them in his general direction.

Dave caught them reflexively, nodding. "Yeah, yeah, I'm coming." He made to slam his locker, then paused as his phone buzzed.

Probably just his housekeeper calling to tell him that the dogs had escaped and peed all over the couch again—something that the forty bucks an hour he paid her apparently did not cover. He yanked it out, skimming over the screen, then rolled his eyes.

**TXT MSG from AZIMIO:** demolish em dude! i gots $$$$ on u!

He typed quickly with one hand as he used the other to awkwardly pull on his helmet, buckling the chin strap absently.

**TXT MSG RPLY:** ur a dumbass. but u can still bet the farm on us!

**TXT MSG from AZIMIO**: u nail the game can i nail a cheerleader?

Dave smiled ruefully.

**TXT MSG RPLY: **and leave me 2 the wrath of ur wife? no way. besides they r so out of ur league

**TXT MSG from AZIMIO:** and theyre in urs? why do the fags get all the hot grrls? hahahahaha

Dave scowled deeply and tossed the phone back into the locker with a bang, moving to slam the door shut—preferably hard enough to dent the metal—but hesitated when his phone buzzed again.

Dammit, Azimio, way to take a guy's mind off the game.

He sighed and grabbed it again.

**TXT MSG from AZIMIO:** which reminds me. coach beasty just made a deal w/ da gleek teach. gangin up on sue after what she pulled. Havin a choir/ftball class of 2012 reunion on sat. chk ur email, we gonna b takin dwn sum gleeeks!

Dave stared blankly down at the text, shaking his head, one eyebrow raised. What the hell? Why the hell would they be having a reunion with the Gleeks? And did that mean that *he* would be there…?

Dave started to open his email but was interrupted when the coach grabbed his phone out of his hand, threw in in the locker and smacked him on the back of the helmet. "Head in the game, boy!"

Dave took a deep breath, nodded, and fell into line behind his fellow slamming machines, tucking his already sweat-soaked towel into the front of his pants as he tried his best to pretend that his mind wasn't somewhere else completely.

Somewhere with a lot less sweat and a lot more feathers.

No. No, no, no. So not going to go there. He couldn't go to this… whatever the hell you call a meetup of the show choir and the freaking football team. Dave didn't want to see him, not after seven years. He didn't want to see how he had made a life for himself, found someone to love, been so goddamn brave while he, Mr. Tough Guy, just wasted away, alone. He couldn't go.

He wasn't that brave.

Music began to pound over the loudspeakers and Dave mentally smacked his thoughts into silence. He had a game to play, and he didn't have to be fucking brave to do that. He just had to be able to bodily slam people into the ground—and if they gave Oscars for *that* kind of shit, he'd have a thousand lined up on his dresser.

"What TIME is it?"

"GAME TIME!" 90,000 people screamed.

"YOU GOT MUD ON YOUR FACE, YOU BIG DISGRACE, KICKIN' YOUR CAN ALL OVER THE PLACE! WE WILL, WE WILL ROCK YOU!"

Dave butted helmets with the quarterback, trying not to smile as he remembered the time Azimio had gotten so wasted that he'd tried to do that off the field with no helmets on—and had ended up accidentally kissing Puckerman.

"NOW, FOR YOUR VERY OWN DAAAALLAS COOOOOWBOYS!"

And they were off onto the field.

The cheerleaders high kicked and danced, the team rallied, slapping each other's butts and ramming their helmets together, a pretty girl in the stands waved a glittery sign saying that she wanted a piece of his tight end. 90,000 people screamed for him.

And Dave Karofsky had never felt so alone.

He was such an effing coward.

The coin was flipped, their favor, the ball was kicked, and the Dallas offense fell into place along the line of scrimmage.

He couldn't go. Hell, for all he knew Hummel might have taken out a freaking restraining order on him.

The quarterback's voice echoed from the speakers in his pads but Dave couldn't quite catch the play over his thoughts. They were louder than the damn fans.

If he didn't go to this thing, wouldn't that just make him more of a coward? Or could you be more of a coward if you were already a coward?

The clock counted down and—

This was insane. What was he, some kind of girl? Trying to analyze every little—

BAM!

Two three hundred pound men bodily slammed him from either side and he was down, their massive weight pressing down on him, choking the breath from him.

DAMMIT! Coach was no doubt screaming through the com in the quarterback's helmet 'cause the quarterback was screamin' at Dave. Gotta get his head in the fucking GAME!

Three seconds later and he was on his feet, ignoring the stabbing pain in his side, and they were lining up again.

Head. In. The. Game.

Dave dug his teeth into his mouthguard, adrenaline pumping, and one of the enormous defensive linemen wagged his eyebrows at him. "Break a leg, Karofsky!" he called out with a wink, a wicked look on his face.

Dave took a deep breath, clenching his fists. In his next life, he was totally joining show choir.


	2. Ch 2: Offensive Moves

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

**Ch 2: Offensive Moves**

Kurt frowned deeply as he studied the decorations, leaning over to adjust an off-center piece of garland. It was lovely, but there was just *something* missing… Perhaps some paper mache hearts? No, too Valentines. A little tinsel? Too Christmas. Maybe some turkeys? Thanksgiving *was* just around the corner, and anything with large plumes of feathers was okay with Kurt Hummel. He reached out to straighten a banner, jerking back as the step ladder started to tip.

"For God's sake, be careful, Kurt!" Burt called out, looking alarmed. "Why don't you let me do that? I don't think those shoes are really the right choice for the job."

"Dad!" Kurt chided, crossing his arms over his chest as he glared down at his father, who was sitting uncomfortably in one of the little desks provided as a form of torture for students. "You shouldn't be doing anything *at all*! You should be in bed resting! Doctor's orders!" He grinned, crossing his purple, high heeled cowboy boots at the ankle as he lounged against the ladder. "And I think these fabulous shoes are just fabulous enough to do a fabulous job for a fabulous get together!"

Kurt turned back to the decorations. He'd see see how long it took his father to decipher *that.*

Apparently Burt wasn't even going to try because he just replied, "Oh, c'mon, Kurt, I'm diabetic, not an invalid! I think I can manage to hang up a couple of shiny banners."

Really. The man needed a *sitter.* "You need to be careful, Dad! I moved back here because you weren't taking good enough care of yourself!" His father made a grunting sound and Kurt glanced over his shoulder, sighing at the guilty look on his father's face.

"You didn't need to come back, Kurt. I take care of myself fine, and when I don't, well, Carol is there for me!" He palmed his face tiredly. "In fact, I wish you hadn't come back. You were living your dream."

Kurt rolled his eyes. Living his dream? Living in a cheap apartment that smelled like cat pee and brussel sprouts while constantly trying to balance a ton of schoolwork, a boyfriend who shaved his chest hair and left it in the tub, and a job waiting tables at a Denny's, yes. Living his dream? Not so much. "I was living in LA. That doesn't mean I was living my dream. I mean, you haven't seen me accepting any Emmies yet, have you?"

Burt chuckled as Kurt climbed down from the ladder, moving over to his father and wrapping an arm around him. "My *dream* is to be happy. And I can't be happy without you, Dad! If that meant coming back to Lima for awhile… well, it was totally worth it to see you healthy."

Burt hugged him tightly. "Thanks, Kurt. I know living in this city is so not what you ever wanted. I really appreciate what you've done for me. But it's been four *years* since I had my last heart attack and the doctor says I am *fine*—fine enough to work in my shop and sure as hell fine enough to hang decorations in the choir room."

Kurt smiled at him. "Well, it hasn't been all bad. Teaching theatre is actually quite fun." Well, it had become fun once he had accepted that he was always going to be called Mr. Porcelain and stopped being offended every time some oversized jock with a big ego and a small penis asked him if he was going to wear a dress to chaperone the prom.

"I just hope you'll get a chance to reconnect with some old friends at this reunion. Maybe think about moving on? I mean, that boy is gonna be here, right?" He wagged his eyebrows suggestively, stifling a laugh at the glare Kurt shot him. "Sorry, sorry. But don't think I don't know how much you miss him."

Kurt shrugged, embarrassed. "I don't even know if he's coming, Dad. I mean, yeah, he transferred from Dalton at the end of senior year, but he really spent most of his school years there. And I've barely even talked to him since I left LA." Because Blaine didn't respond to any of his messages.

Burt stood, clapping his son on the shoulder. "Oh, don't worry, kiddo. I have a feeling he'll show." He flashed a smile. "Who would want to miss out on you?"

"Yeah, well, he hasn't RSVP'd yet."

"You *are* sure people got their invites this year, right?"

"Oh, yes. I called everyone personally. I can't believe Sue rerouted all the Glee Club invitations to the addresses of Indian porn stars!" He shuddered. "Fifteen people naked in the auditorium, expecting to receive green cards in exchange for taking part in a pornographic reproduction of High School Musical. How does she come up with this crap?"

"What can I say, it's the stuff of my fantasies." Kurt jumped slightly, turning around to see Sue leaning against the doorframe, looking around the choir room with a smirk on her face. Fabulous. Just what he needed. "I see you've got everything all set up here, Porcelain. Too bad, considering that the reunion's been moved."

Kurt frowned, forehead wrinkling in confusion. "What are you talking about? It hasn't been moved."

Sue's eyes widened and her mouth formed a little 'o' of shock. "Really? Because that's not what I saw on Facebook!" She gave a wicked little laugh. "I hope you all enjoy your time together at the funeral home over on Blanton St." With those words she gave a little flick of the fingers good bye and strode off, whistling happily.

"What the hell?" Burt said with disbelief, shaking his head.

Kurt quickly pulled out his phone, opening up his Facebook ap and letting out a loud groan at what he saw.

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel:** Okay, everybody, time to RSVP for Glee! Comment here or on our FB page to let us know you're coming! The get together is on Saturday November 13th at 11:00 in the McKinley High choir room! Send me your email addresses if you need more detailed instructions! (Finn, you can just ride with me. I know you don't remember how to get to WMHS.)

See all 6 comments.

**Rev. Mercedes Jones:** I know you got my addy, boy! You just don't WRITE enough!

**Quinn Fabray:** I'll be there. Unless Rachel is coming.

**Puck-a-Saurus:** i'm at [FFN deleted this]

**Senor Schuester:** Thanks so much for organizing this, Kurt!

**CURT HUMEL:** The whole thing is moved. Go to 2817 Blanton St. See you gleeks there!

**Arty Abrams: **Isn't that a funeral home?

Kurt gritted his teeth and began to type. Sue was not gonna win this time.


	3. Ch 3: Game Plan

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

It's kind of embarrassing just how badly it got butchered.

**Ch 3: Game Plan**

Dave re-read the email for what had to be the twentieth time, staring dully at the glowing screen. The words hadn't changed.

- Begin Message

**From:** Shannon Beiste

**Date**: Sun, 7 Nov 1:52:56 PM

**To: **[I had a bunch of amusing emails here, but FFN ruined the formatting] … (and 16 more)

**Subject: **Football Reunion, Class of 2012

Hello boys,

Well, the time is here again for a reunion! Thanks for getting me all the email addresses, Hummel. I figured I'd go by a more direct means of inviting you boys this time, since our last attempt was derailed when Coach Sylvester intercepted my invites and changed the meetup address to the slaughterhouse on Avery St. (I swear to the Gods of Pigskin, if you boys EVER send Hudson into a room full of decapitated horses again, I will knock you down faster than a one eyed panda bear can fall and break its hip!)

Since Sue's as sure as a monkey's boobs to try and ruin our plans, Will Schuester and I have decided to team up on her. After all, since so many of the boys in your year defected to dance choir, we might as well huddle up together.

New Directions and the McKinley High Titans reunion. Be there. Saturday, 11:00 AM. Sharp. Not a SECOND late, boys, or you'll be running laps from here to Uranus! The reunion's in the choir room.

NOTE: If you don't know where the choir room is, just go to the locker room. I'll put signs up next to the showers and you can follow the arrows.

Coach Beiste

—

Winners don't quit!

Quitters are losers!

Losers don't win!

Losers don't deserve to walk my Astroturf, so get hell off my field!

—The Panther

P.S. Karofsky: if you just came from football practice, make use of the shower or I'll shove that soap where the sun don't shine in an attempt to plug up the odor.

P.P.S. Puckerman: nobody thinks it's cute when you jerk off in public. Restrain yourself or your NUTS will be hiding where the sun don't shine.

P.P.P.S. Hudson: please don't panic when you can't open your locker. It's not actually your locker anymore. A kid named Kevin puts his jock straps there these days. (I wouldn't touch them. I'm pretty sure he's got herpes.)

- End of Message

The Titans. And the Gleeks. Together. Oh, God he was going to vomit. He wouldn't even have to crash the party to get a look at *him.* Wouldn't even have to make up some excuse to—

No. No, no, no. He was so not going to this. No way, no how.

Okay, yeah, it *would* cool to see some guys who were his buddies *before* he became known for grabbing the ball and putting anyone in his path into the grave. But still…

He couldn't risk it. All it would take was one little whisper to the press and—

Dammit! He was such an effing coward.

He clicked to the next message.

- Begin Message

**From:** The Az Man [FFN deleted this]

**Date:** Sun, 7 Nov 11:32:03 PM

**To:** Demo Dave [FFN deleted this]

**Subject:** bring da terror baaaack!

so's I heard it thru da grapevine dat the gleeksquads and d football team r having a wittle get 2gether skool on sat. u gonna b n ohio 4 the browns/cowboys game? dude we should totally hit d part-tay! could b more fun than hooters. wat u think? bring some cheerleaders w/ u man! ttyl.

ur boy,

Azimio

- End of Message

Dave stared at the message for a moment then hit reply.

- Begin Message

**From:** Demo Dave [FFN deleted this]

**Date:** Tue, 7 Nov 11:43:27 PM

**To:** The Az Man [FFN deleted this]

**CC**: Linda Azimio [FFN deleted this]

**Subject**: Re: bring da terror baaaack!

On Tue, 7 Nov 11:32:03 PM "The Az Man" wrote:

so's I heard it thru da grapevine dat gleeksquads and d football team r having a

wittle get 2gether skool on sat.

Wow, arent we just the gossip magnet? is this what being a househusband is doin 2 ya, friend?

u gonna b n ohio 4 the browns/cowboys

game?

No, I'm gonna stay home and paint my toenails, einstein.

dude we should totally hit d part-tay! could b more

fun than hooters. wat u think?

I think u need 2 get a hobby. Besides cleaning up baby vomit I mean. Do u really wanna go back 2 highschool? U flunked special ed. I told u cheating off blondes was a bad idea. But no, u had 2 cheat off that dumb cheerleader i screwed (with great boredom) that asked me why her ken doll's penis was so small. Not 2 mention the dyslexic guy with the razor abs that starved himself and made me wanna shove chili cheese fries in2 my oversized mouth. Really, u thought copying their math homework would HELP u get a diploma? Ur 25 years old w/ a wife and kid and u cant come up with anything more fun than making L's (usually in the wrong direction) on our foreheads and drawing dicks on wheelchair kid's face? …okay, THAT was sort of funny. Say 'AAAAHHH' ardy. hehehehe

bring some cheerleaders w/ u

man! ttyl.

Just so u know, I copied ur wife on this. HI LINDA! *eg*

:P

Dave

- End of Message

He clicked send, paused for a moment, then opened Facebook.

**Dave Karofsky:** LIKE THIS IF U THINK AZIMIOS A DUMBASS!

He sighed, clicking open Beiste's email again. No way, no how. He was NOT going to lower himself to awkwardly trying to chat with Kurt Hummel in a way that would probably end with him terrifying the kid and Azimio smacking him on the back of the head telling him to try flowers next time. This was stupid. He hadn't seen the pretty boy since freakin' high school and they hadn't even been *friends* then. There was no reason whatsoever for Dave to give a shit about seeing him.

His tongue flickered out and he licked his lips nervously, arrow hovering for a moment before he re-opened Facebook, quickly typing in a name.

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel:** ATTENTION ALL GLEEKS AND TITANS! Ignore ANY and ALL messages from CURT HUMEL, especially on the Glee Club Facebook page! The address on Blanton drive is a FUNERAL HOME and we are STILL meeting in the CHOIR ROOM at McKinley! NOTHING HAS CHANGED! If there are ANY changes I will CALL you about them!

Senor Schuester and 12 other people Like this.

**Finn Hudson:** who's curt humel?

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel**: Sue.

**Tina Chang:** Ah, that explains it.

**Kurt Hudson-Humme**l: Pretty much.

**Coach S. Beiste:** Same goes for my Titans! If anything changes you will hear it STRAIGHT FROM THE PANTHER'S MOUTH!

Dave's arrow hovered over the **+1 Add as Friend** button for a long moment before he moved over and clicked on his Friends section.

It was amazing how lonely you could feel with 917 Facebook friends.

He smirked slightly, scanning the feed. Linda would have gotten his email by now.

**Dave Karofsky: **LIKE THIS IF U THINK AZIMIOS A DUMBASS!

Puck-a-Saurus and 97 other people Like this.

See all 83 Comments

**Puck-a-Saurus: **DUMBASS!

**Linda J. Azimio**: I second this.

**Papa Azimio:** HEY! Ur my wife—ur supposed 2 b on my side!

**Linda J. Azimio:** CHEERLEADERS? WTF?

**Papa Azimio:** i hate u dave.

**Linda J. Azimio:** Did you pick up more Pampers?

**Puck-a-Saurus:** That's some kinky shiiiiit!

**Papa Azimio:** theyre 4 the baby u asswipe (no pun intended). & no, i forgot. get em on the way home.

**Linda J. Azimio: **You get off your ass and go get them. I work all day! You sit at home and watch ESPN then lie and tell me you dusted when I come home.

**Papa Azimio:** i HATE dusting!

**Linda J. Azimio:** Life's a bitch. Get used to it.

**Papa Azimio: **life's not a bitch, u r!

**Linda J. Azimio:** Get used to the COUCH, too, dumbass!

**Puck-a-Saurus:** HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

**Papa Azimio:** did i say i hate u dave?

Dave smirked. At least he wouldn't be the only one lonely tonight.

A beep and his IM came up with a name he didn't recognize.

**TopModelNavi:** u cumming dave?

**DemolitionDave89:** excuse me?

**TopModelNavi**: its samevans. u cumming?

**DemolitionDave89:** 8O ?

**TopModelNavi:** 2 teh reunyun. puck gave me ur IM.

**DemolitionDave89: **its spelled coming, evans. w/ an o.

**TopModelNavi:** o.

**DemolitionDave89:** no. Im not. Got a game in cleveland sun.

**TopModelNavi:** reyunion is sat. PLS CUM?

**DemolitionDave89:** pls use an o in 'come', evans.

**TopModelNavi:** i told my nefew id get an autograf.

**DemolitionDave89: **I'll mail u one.

**TopModelNavi:** :( kk. Id like 2 see u. my abs look awesome. If u change ur mind theres an rsvp on the glee facebk page. [FFN deleted this]

**DemolitionDave89:** ill keep that in mind. hey r u gay yet?

**TopModelNavi:** huh?

**DemolitionDave89: **nuthin. Inside joke. As in everybody but u was in on it.

**TopModelNavi:** ?

**DemolitionDave89: ***pats ur head*

Dave snickered, then clicked the link Evans had sent him. Glee Club had a Facebook page? Talk about vicarious living.

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel:** I am soooo excited about Saturday! (Though, Gaga help us, Will told Shannon she could invite her FOOTBALL boys! They probably won't be able to find the choir room anyway. 8D Mercedes I can't WAIT to see you, grrrlfriend! MWAH!)

Artie Abrams and 12 other people Like this.

See all 13 comments.

**Rev. Mercedes Jones:** Kisses right back at ya, baby!

**Blaine:** Hey, what about me? Do I get kisses when I get there?

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel:** *blush* Hi Blaine! Are you really going to make it?

**Finn Hudson:** I lost the peanut butter.

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel:** It's in the pantry, Finn.

**Blaine:** Hey, I gotta see what fab stuff you're doing with that theatre department!

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel:** Oooooh, I can't wait to see you! I have missed you SOOOOOOO much, Blaine!

**Finn Hudson: **Where in the pantry

**Blaine:** I can't wait to see your beautiful face again!

**Finn Hudson:** WTF?

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel:** Not you, Finn. Me.

**Finn Hudson:** Oh. Ok.

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel:** Finn And it's on the left behind the oatmeal.

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel:** Blaine *blushes* Your are so sweet. I am so lucky to know a man like you. 3 3 3

**Blaine: **Look who's talking! I'd say I'M the lucky one!

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel:** You are too wonderful to be real. *Blows kisses* My one true luuuv. ;) JK!

Dave scowled. Yeah, sure, he was *totally* just kidding. Hmph. Dave swallowed the lump rising in his throat, then slammed the lid of his laptop shut, tossing it onto the coffee table with a loud thud.

Fuck this. He was SICK of being lonely!

He lifted his hips slightly, digging his phone out of his pocket and shuffling through his contacts.

It was amazing how lonely you could be with 112 contacts in your phone.

It rang. And rang. And ra—

"Hey Big D," a feminine voice said, her tone almost as perky as her fake tits. "What's up?"

"Hey Katie. You know the Browns game on Sunday? I got a high school reunion going on in Lima on Saturday morning. Thought maybe I'd head over there after practice Friday, drop in on the old man and gloat over the fact that I make more money than he does by being a 'hulking fat oaf.' Maybe drop in on Azimio for a few, then just get a hotel room and chill. Be back before Saturday evening practice. You think maybe you wanna come?"

A sickly sweet giggle. "Aw, Dave, are you taking me home to meet your parents? How schweet of woo!" She started making baby noises over the phone and he rolled his eyes.

"You comin' or not?"

"Where he goes, I follow! Hey, is there a spa in… uh, where is your high school?"

"Lima."

"Like the bean?"

"Yeah."

"Shit. Anyway, they got good spas? 'Cause I totally need a bikini wax. And you could use a little hair off that chest of yours—"

Dave's pecs winced at the thought. "No."

"But Daaaave—"

"I let you spread hot wax all over my chest once. I have learned my lesson. The answer is no. You can break my bones and make me bleed but like hell are you gonna rip wax off of my nipples."

"It doesn't hurt THAT bad—"

"NO."

"We'll discuss this later."

"Like hell we will."

"See you tomorrow, hun."

"Later, baby." Dave turned off the phone with a sigh. At least Azimio would be pleased. He was bringing a cheerleader.

Now the only question was, what would Kurt think?


	4. Ch 4: 4th and 10

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

**Ch 4: 4th and 10**

Kurt took a deep breath as he studied himself in the mirror, his heart fluttering a little as he ran fingertips down across his lips and along his neck.

Good God, you would think he was auditioning for an Audrey Hepburn role the next morning, he was so nervous. My fair lady, indeed. He smiled slightly as he reached out to gently touch the picture he'd salvaged from his small box of *good* high school memories, tracing the colorful words taped to the mirror.

COURAGE.

Blaine smiled serenely back at him, looking as snappy as ever in the schoolboy suit that seemed as though it had been designed just for Blaine's frequent appearances in Kurt's nighttime fantasies. And he had, indeed, spent many nights dreaming of the subtle curve of those lips, of the delicate yet still masculine jaw, of those long limbs wrapping around him as the soft weight of Blaine's body pressed lightly against his... Well, at least on the nights he didn't wake up panting from fast, harsh dreams of his back slamming against hard lockers, a mammoth's weight holding him captive, too big, too strong, to push away. Feeling the desperation, a mix of panic and pure confusion, as chapped lips pressed against his, not asking, just taking…

When he woke up panting from the *nightmare* of it all, that is. Yeah. Absolutely.

Kurt cleared his throat, shaking away the memory… or the nightmare… or whatever it was... as he focused on the picture of the man who had been his first *everything.*

Well, except his first kiss. A certain oaf had stolen that. But Kurt had decided it didn't *really* count anyway. It had really been less of a kiss and more of an exchange of slushie flavored spit and leftover hamburger.

God, he missed Blaine so much. He didn't regret coming back to help his father, not for an *instant*—but sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if his leaving LA for Lima hadn't so much been the *reason* that their relationship had fallen apart, but rather and more of a breaking point. They had been fighting so much in those last days, and not just about Blaine leaving his chest hair in the shower. They'd had an all out screaming fight over whether to replace the sofa Blaine's cats were peeing all over with a black or brown couch, and their life in the bedroom had been lacking since Kurt had owned up to the fact that he despised the shade of yellow Blaine had chosen for their silk sheets. Blaine had said that he was being selfish, wanting to always highlight his own best features and caring nothing for what the tone did to Blaine—and maybe he was. But their entire bedroom had been a mustard sort of yellow that, though it had been Blaine's signature color for the month, did nothing for Kurt's pink-based tone. And Blaine wasn't the only one sleeping in that bed. It seemed only fair to Kurt that they go with a color that brought out the best of both of their complexions.

But never mind it. Everyone had hitches in their relationships. His return to Lima had merely pushed it over the edge. His dad was right. Burt really was healthy again—and was taking care of himself the *right* way this time, no excuses for Slim Jims! It was time for Kurt to move on. He couldn't live in his parents' house forever, nor did he want to syphon off of them any longer.

No offense meant to Finn, of course.

Maybe it *was* time to return to Hollywood—and salvage his relationship with Blaine, too. That is, if Blaine wanted him back.

He glanced down at the phone sitting on the top of his vanity, smiling at the words on the screen.

**TXT MSG from BLAINE:** Can't wait 2 see you, beautiful!

He took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders. He just needed to relax. Blaine had always said he tried too hard, made a spectacle out of himself instead of just letting his star shine as bright as it was born. But it was… difficult. Somehow, everywhere they went, it was like Blaine shone from the heavens and Kurt was left shaking a burnt out lightbulb. And every time he made moves to replace the bulb—

He pushed that thought firmly from his mind, reaching up to powder his cheek. Blaine was right. He *did* try too hard. Just *Blaine's* success was proof enough of that. He was always the star when they went out on the town, and he didn't craft perfect outfits or sprinkle glitter in his hair. He just shone, without effort. Kurt didn't even know how people could bear to audition against him. He had learned the futility of *that* during his days at Dalton.

He studied himself in the mirror. Was that a wrinkle under his right eye? Surely not. He was only twenty-five. But your time as a star was often short. Had it really been *seven whole years* since he first left Lima? He remembered it like it was yesterday. The pure joyous excitement of boarding that bus to the land of the stars, his dreams soaring as high as the prices on the latest Prada pumps. He had been so certain of who he was and what he was destined to become…

He really hadn't expected the experience to be so… lonely.

Of course, he'd had Blaine there right beside him. But still... every person you crossed in LA was just another Rachel Berry. Self absorbed and absolutely obsessed with being a 'star.' Never mind if the lifestyle left you miserable and alone. Just as long as people knew your name, everything must be right in the world.

He sighed, then started a little when his phone went off, vibrating against the vanity.

**TXT MSG from MY DARLING DIVA:** hey kurt, some of us r gonna meet up at breadstix 2nite. I know mr shue is coming and I think britt, artie, and maybe mike and tina too. U joining us?

A small smile crossed Kurt's lips as he typed a reply.

**TXT MSG RPLY**: Oh, gee, Mercedes, I dunno…

T**XT MSG RPLY:** jk! As if I'd miss it! lol

He chuckled, tucking the phone into his pocket, Breadstix, huh? Sounded good to him.

o o o o o o o o

"Dammit," Azimio muttered, holding the dirty diaper as far away from his body as possible. He was letting it dangle from two fingers, making Dave more than a little nervous for the state of the carpet if the thing started dripping. And he thought having *dogs* was bad.

"I swear, they are nuthin' but pooping machines, Dave! Dat is all they do. Eat 'n poop!"

"Sounds a lot like men," Katie replied with a laugh and Dave couldn't help but grin at the pitiful state his oh-so-tough playboy buddy was in, with the crap filled diaper in one hand and a baby thrown over his shoulder, its butt in the air, as he tried to pat its back.

"It's a nice sweatshirt," Dave said sweetly, snickering at the glare Azimio shot him. "No, seriously I like the whole 'WHO'S YOUR DADDY?' thing, especially combined with the pink Care Bear."

"Oh, shut up da hell up," Azimio muttered. "You wait until you have yo' own poop machine, then we'll talk."

"I think that's just kind of the way of the world, man. I mean, that's pretty much all you do, right? Eat and poop?"

"He also spends an amazing amount of time bitching," Linda broke in, grabbing the diaper from her husband and stuffing it into an overflowing trash bag. "But yeah, eating and pooping pretty much sums up his oh-so-many talents. But I think that goes for most frat boy rejects."

"Hey!" Dave said, holding a hand to his chest. "You wound me with your words! As a former frat boy, I can honestly state that we could eat, poop, AND drink, sometimes simultaneously! And we did a LOT of drinking." He smirked. "Also a lot of shitting, but that's not so pretty a story."

"Like the drinking stories are any better," Katie said dryly. "It made wet t-shirt contests interesting, though. One of the boys would pass out and the hose would just fly straight up in the air." She snickered. "Not to mention the time that Dave got so wasted that he climbed onto the bar and announced his engagement to Troy Aikman."

Dave winced. "I woke up the next day butt naked in the middle of the Delta Gamma sorority house with a Cowboys pom-pom tied to my dick. And when I got back to the frat house, Lenny Hesterson had put invites to my bachelor party under all the guys' door." He laughed. "Any excuse for a drinking game, right?"

"Wow," Azimio said, bouncing the baby on his arm. "You married Troy Aikman and I didn't even get an invite to da wedding? Day-am, man, that hurts!"

"It was called off when I couldn't find the right dress." Dave smirked. "You totally would have been my maid of honor."

"Hey!" Katie said, looking affronted. "How about me? I think I'd look much finer in the dress."

"Or a wet t-shirt…" Azimio wagged his eyebrows suggestively, though the effect was kind of ruined by the pink pacifier that had somehow gotten stuck behind his ear.

"Hey, eyes up, soldier," Dave retorted. "No more wet t-shirts. I suffered through four *years* of wet t-shirts. I deserve a break."

Katie shook her head sadly. "And we never did find you a Troy Aikman blow up doll."

"Hey, who needs a blow up doll when they've got a livin,' breathin' one like you in da house, baby?"

"Please tell me that was not supposed to be a pickup line. 'Cause it just left me mildly offended."

Azimio wiggled his hips. "Smooth, aren't I?"

"You have baby shit on your hand."

"And yet I am still da prince of plaaayboys!"

Dave smirked. "Okay, there is now officially vomit running down your back."

"What, you don't think my lines are suuuave, man? Smoooth as a bay-bay's bottom."

Katie giggled as Dave pointed at his friend. "No, seriously, dude. Your baby just vomited down your back."

Azimio's eyes widened and he slapped a hand down on his back, grimacing when he came up with a hand full of spit-up. "DAMMIT, LINDA! She went and threw up again! Goddamn it, where'd you go and put the baby wipes?" He made to rub his forehead, then winced as he spread throw up across his forehead. "Day-am-it!"

"Wow," Dave said dryly. "It's like being trapped in a public service announcement on why to never have heterosexual sex."

Katie chuckled as Azimio stormed out of the room, presumably in a quest to find the elusive baby wipes.

Dave shook his head, then glanced at his watch. "Well, I guess we better head out. Your pussy wax is in an hour. We can grab something to eat afterward" He raised his voice. "Yo, 'Zimio! You wanna hit Breadstix with us later?"

"Sure I—DAMMIT! LINDA, SHE SPIT UP AGAIN! How many times can one damn baby toss her guts? What is she, hungova'?" He stumbled back into the living room, sans baby this time, scowling deeply as he wiped vomit off his forehead with a sports towel. "Uh, I'll try and make it, okay? Don't wait up for me though, man. LINDA, WHERE ARE DA DAMN BABY WIPES?"

Dave grinned as he stood, offering a hand to Katie. "Yeah, okay. We'll get out of your way, Martha Stewart."

"Oh, go to hell in a baby basket, retard. And bring baby wipes with ya when you come back."

o o o o o o o o

"And so then I auditioned for *another* Broadway show! Twenty-nine auditions in four days! Is that not *amazing*?"

"Amwayshing," Finn muttered, burying his head further down into his arms. "Mayayayayashnigh."

Santana yawned widely and Tina waved over the waitress, pointing to something on the menu. "Does this contain any animal products?"

"And so after *that*, I—"

"That's wonderful, Rachel!" Will cut in, eliciting a sigh of relief from everyone at the table. "It has been really… interesting… hearing about your time in New York." He turned his attention to the woman sitting down the table from him, a big smile on his face. "You're looking lovely, Mercedes—that is a very interesting hat. Been trading clothes with Kurt again, have you? Tell us, what have you been doing lately?"

Kurt held back a snicker as Rachel sank down in her seat with a very sour look on her face and a death glare aimed at Will. Finn reached out and patted her arm absently, not bothering to lift his face up off of the bread plate. The bread plate where he had been sleeping since Rachel had started regaling them all with her failed attempts at acquiring a chorus role on Broadway—an hour and twenty-three minutes ago. The hand on Kurt's silver pocket watch twitched. Make than an hour and twenty-four.

"Weeell," Mercedes said with a big grin, tipping her admittedly stunning hat at Will—Kurt especially loved how the feather trim blended so well with the silver sequins. "You may be surprised to hear that *I* have just finished up my days at seminary. Just call me Reverend Mercedes, ladies and gentlemen!"

"Semen-ary?" Brittany questioned, looking interested. "You're a baby doctor? That's neat. I have a doll that can drink and go pee!"

This comment was quickly followed by a bit of commotion as Mike choked on a breadstick and Artie had to pound on his back.

Mercedes let out one of her deep, diva laughs, shaking her head. "I guess you could say I'm a Jesus doctor, Brittany."

"Oh." She frowned, brow wrinkling. "Is that contagious?"

This time it was Artie who choked on the breadstick.

"Well, we do try and spread the word!"

"So it's kind of like an STD?"

"Anyway," Kurt cut in abruptly before *that* thought let to any strange images involving Catholic priests and state prisons, "we know we have a fizzling star and a discipling diva in our midst. How about everyone else?" He pasted a big smile on his face. "What about you, Puck? I haven't seen you in a couple of years! You still live in Lima?"

Puck nodded, flashing his 'smooth and suave' grin. "Oooh, yeah—and I've been makin' it pretty good if I do say so myself. You remember my pool cleaning biz?"

"Yeah," Artie replied dryly, "you screwed my grandma."

"Well, I have moved on up in the world, kids! The Puckinator," he gestured proudly to himself, "was selected to appear on a brand spankin' new reality show." He flexed an arm. "My guns are gonna be all over your cable TV, kids."

Quinn coughed, looking rather amused. "Really? And what kind of show is it? 'The Life and Times of Your Average Idiot'?"

Puck glared at her. "Oh, look, the Queen Bee is playin' hard to get again. I'll have you know that this thing is gonna take off like a Russian space shuttle. It's called Sex Servants—telling the true stories of the stable lads, the live-in maids, and, of course, the pool boys that make the lives of middle aged housewives S-I-N-sational!" He laughed. "Get it? SINsational? No offense, Mercedes."

Mercedes waved a hand as she obviously fought back a laugh. "None taken, Puck."

"Who would have thought cleanin' the ladies' filters would get me so far in life, huh?"

Finn raised his head up, nodding sagely. "That's sweet, man."

"Totally," Sam agreed. "You know, I'm a model. Think you could hook me up?"

Puck winked at him. "I'll see what I can do, blondie."

"Wow," Kurt said as soon as he was sure he could manage to speak without bursting into laughter. He shared an amused glance with Mercedes. "That is quite impressive, Puck. And here I thought you were going to regale us with tales of becoming an insurance salesman or something."

"Uh, no, that's actually me," Mike spoke up, looking rather embarrassed as he sat there in a very stiff suit. "I, uh, wanted to major in dance, but my parents said they would disown me if I didn't go after my MBA." He gave a sheepish grin. "But at least I convinced them not to purchase a woman from China for me to marry."

Tina, who was seated next to him, smiled rather goofily, adjusting the huge pink and orange sunflowers stuck in her hair as she eyed Mike. "You do look really good in a suit, though, Mike."

Personally, Kurt thought he looked like someone had cut out a box, painted it black with a tie, and stuck it over his head but, hey, to each their own.

"Your new look is interesting, too, Tina," Artie cut in before Mike could respond, looking a little put out as he eyed his ex-girlfriend. "I never saw you as the Birkenstock type."

She smiled, adjusting her garishly tie-dyed t-shirt. Kurt held back a shudder. And they'd thought the zombie cheerleader look was bad. "Well, after I dropped out of community college, I found my real calling working at Whole Foods. Nature is sooo important and we just treat it like an in-law we'd rather not deal with. Did you know that some people actually buy *double ply* toilet paper? Talk about a waste of trees! Single ply is bad enough!" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Personally, I say just use leaves!"

"The single ply stuff comes out too easy when ya hose it down," Puck informed her with a shrug. "Just wet it down, it falls outta their trees, and boom—no more TP. You gotta use the good stuff if you wanna leave your *mark.* The Charmin Ultra's best. The trees will be wearin' TP for *weeks.*"

Kurt stifled a laugh at the look on Tina's face. "He's right," he said in amusement. "Trust me, I had quite the experience trying to get that stuff down—"

His words were cut off suddenly as a loud shriek came from the front of the restaurant.

Brittany jumped in her seat, eyes wide. "I didn't do it!"

"What the hell?" Mercedes muttered, turning around. "Whoa, what is he doin' with that girl?"

Kurt turned in his chair, opening his mouth to respond, then cut off-though his jaw remained on the floor as he was greeted with a vision from his worst night… mares.

Karofsky was *enormous.*

That was the first thought that popped into Kurt's mind, followed quickly by the observation that he had a scantily glad woman flung over one shoulder like a screaming sack of flour. She was screeching like a banshee as he carried her across Breadstix, a big, lopsided grin on his face as she smacked her palms down over and over again on his gigantic back. Dear God, all he needed now was a big stick and Fred Flintstone's snazzy outfit to complete the caveman look.

"Hey, you!" Mercedes called out, rising a little in her seat. "Put that girl down, right now!"

Karofsky either didn't hear her, or didn't care, because he just motioned at a waitress, holding up two fingers when she asked how many, a nervous look on her face.

"I swear to GOD, you overgrown sonofabitch, if you don't put me down this goddamn MINUTE, I will remove your testicles with my TEETH!"

Kurt took a deep breath, frozen as he stared at the other man. Dave Karofsky was back in town. The boy who had taunted him mercilessly, threatened his life, and even stolen his first kiss was back in Lima. And Dave Karofsky was definitely a *boy* no more.

The man had to have grown at least three or four inches since senior yearl and his shoulders were a wider expanse than ever. Even though he was wearing a loose jacket, you could still see the muscles bulging under his t-shirt and his jeans didn't hide all that much, either. Yet his face was so very much the same, with a wide jaw and slightly chubby cheeks, eyebrows so expressive they could have written a damn script, and the requisite big, dumb grin. Well, Kurt had mostly seen the big, dumb scowl in his days at McKinley, but he was pretty sure the smile Karofsky was wearing now was the same one he flashed after putting a slushie in a Gleek's face.

Dave Karofsky… was back in town.

Kurt shoved down the nervousness rising in his gut, taking another deep breath and squaring his shoulders. They were all grown ups now. He had no reason to be afraid of this thug anymore. Okay, Karofsky was a grown up *carrying a woman over his shoulder* through a restaurant, but still...

It didn't matter. If the giant tried anything, well, that was what 911 was for, right? Right. Kurt shook his head, trying to clear it. He just hadn't prepared himself for this.

For some reason, he hadn't expected Karofsky to show. Or maybe just pushed the thought out of his head, the mere idea being so horrifying. Though why the hell wouldn't Karofsky come? High school was like the golden years for losers like that. He was probably the night janitor at a rehab center or something now, cleaning up junkie vomit for a living. Dumb jocks like Karofsky *lived* for the memories of those years, with their winning games and girlfriends and parties and letterman jackets. Not to mention all the Dumpster tosses and pee balloons and potty tippings and slushies in the face. Why wouldn't an asshole like Karofsky want to relive those days in all their glamour?

And, of course, there was the day that he had kissed Kurt.

He eyed Karofsky as the man mimicked shoving his fist up the woman's butt. Hm. Maybe he should put 911 on speed dial.

"Is he gonna put her down?" Tina questioned, not seeming to notice when one of her flowers dropped into the basket of breadsticks.

"I hope not," Puck said with a wicked grin. "That is one FINE ass she's got!" Mercedes smacked him on the back of the head, eliciting a little yelp. "What? I'm just *sayin'*!"

"Maybe it's a mating ritual," Brittany put in, smiling widely. Her dentures slipped down slightly and Kurt winced. Yeah, Dr. Pepper was definitely no dentist.

"Mmmmhmmmhmmm," Finn added helpfully, raising his chin up from where it had landed on his chest when he nodded off again. He yawned widely. "Wha's goin' on?"

"Oh my God… shit, that's Demolition Dave!"

Mercedes raised a quizzical eyebrow at Sam, who was now out of his seat, jumping up and down as he waved both arms in the air. "YO, DEMOLITION! What's up, dude? I'm so jived you came! It's me, Sam! You know, TopModelNavi?"

The gargantuan man turned around rather quickly, causing the woman to topple off his shoulder. He caught her easily with one arm and hefted her back up again as he looked Sam up and down, his dumb grin growing even wider and dumber, if that was possible.

"Well, hello Backstreet Boy. Nice crop top, kid."

Sam glanced down at his rather short shirt, then lowered his arms with a sheepish shrug. That, at least, allowed his pecs some coverage.

Artie was now waving, too, a huge grin on his face. "Yo, man, you gotta sign, like a thousand jersey fo' me! I am full time eBay these days. I could make a killing!"

"God help us," Quinn muttered to Santana. "Just what we need. More helmet heads."

"What are you people talking about?" Kurt finally questioned when his Questioning Look in Mercedes' direction had elicited him no more than a shrug. He turned his gaze on Karofsky, glaring what he hoped looked like daggers but probably came off more like nail files. "And why the hell do you have a woman thrown over your shoulder?"

Karofsky's brow furrowed in confusion for a moment before his eyes widened and he pointed at the tan, mile long legs draped down his chest as if he had just remembered they were there. "Who, her?"

"No," Quinn said, rolling her eyes. "The woman on your other shoulder."

Karofsky made a rude face at her and Kurt felt a nervous tickle run down his spine. At least the look wasn't directed at him this time. "Ha ha." He slapped a hand down hard on her butt with a wide grin, causing Mercedes to wrinkle up her nose, looking a little disgusted. "This is Katie. Katie-pie, say hi to the nice people."

A bleach blonde head peeked out from behind him, glaring. "Hi. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'd offer to shake your hand, but I'm a little busy escaping Tarzan, here."

Karofsky made a chortling sound. "Me get Katie. Me keeps Katie. Ugh ugh." He pounded lightly on his chest and the woman rolled her eyes.

"Thank you, David. Your wit astounds me."

"Hey, I *told* you that if I had to hear the phrase 'wax my vagina' one more freaking time, I was going to throw you over my shoulder and bodily remove you from that goddamn spa!"

The soda Will had just swallowed was quickly recycled and spewed out his nose.

"So, you wanna join us, man—"

"NO," Kurt said coldly, cutting Puck off before the words could finish escaping his jock mouth. "He does NOT want to join us." He raised an eyebrow, flicking a hand in Sasquatch's general direction. "Begone. Take your woman-prize and go away." A smirk tugged at his lips. "Your common clothing *hurts my eyes*."

"Hey!" Karofsky said with obviously false hurt. "No fair judgin' a man against yourself! Not everyone can be as pretty as Kurtsy!" He made kissy noises until the blonde woman reached up and smacked him on the shoulder. "Besides, homo-clothes hurt *my* eyes, so I guess we're even." With those words he grabbed two chairs from a nearby table and dragged them up, bodily pushing Will, seat and all, down far enough to slide the extra seats in next to Kurt.

In one smooth movement he grabbed the woman around her small waist, twisted her around in the air, then dropped her lightly into the chair next to Will, laughing at her shriek of protest.

A long string of epitaphs followed as Karofsky dumped his oversized self into the chair, sitting backward with his arms resting on the back, a wicked grin on his face.

Kurt shoved the man's enormous elbow out of his personal space with a scowl.

"So, what's up, Gleeks? You the dinner entertainment?"

"I'm sorry," Kurt spoke up before anyone could respond, his voice hard. "I *don't* remember anyone saying that you could sit with us, Karofsky."

The man raised an eyebrow, flashing him the better-than-you look that usually meant a slushie facial was on the way, then turned to Finn, who was trying to build a boat with his breadsticks. Or possibly the Death Star. It was kind of hard to tell.

"Yo, Hudson!"

Finn started slightly, glancing around like he'd been caught doing something naughty. "Who, wha, uh, huh, yeah?"

"Can I sit here?"

Fin blinked rapidly, glanced back down at his breadstick boat… castle… thing, then back up again. "Uh… yeah… sure?" He glanced over at Puck, as if wanting to know if that was the right answer, receiving a shrug in response.

Karofsky smirked and the blonde woman rolled her eyes.

"Thanks, man."

"Anytime."

Kurt smacked his napkin down on the table. "Now you listen here you—" whatever put down had been about to explode from his mouth—and he had some rather witty ones in mind—was interrupted when Will stood abruptly, smiling hard enough that it looked like his teeth were going to break, while making the universal sign for 'no weapons here.'

"Okay, how about we all just try and get along. We're all ADULTS here, after all—finally!" He burst into laughter, which quickly faded away as everyone else just stared at him. "Okay. Right. So. It's great to see you all! New Directions together again!" He paused, glancing over at Karofsky. "And, of course, our unexpected guest, um, I'm sorry, it's been awhile…"

"Karofsky," Kurt answered for the man, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring at the hulking fool who was was *still* invading his personal space with his oversized ass. "The one and only."

Karofsky just grinned and tugged off his coat, revealing his very large… guns… for the world to see—a movement that was immediately followed by a hostile takeover when he grabbed every last breadstick in the basket and shoved them into his mouth. At once.

Kurt winced. No wonder he was the essence of enormous. He bent back slightly in an effort to avoid rubbing against Karofsky's rather large arm as the man continued his binge, shoving half the butter in his mouth. Kurt cleared his throat in annoyance, scowling when Karofsky just raised an eyebrow at him.

"Right. Karofsky. And I'm sorry, I seem to have forgotten your lady friend's name…"

"He was distracted by the way you had her hanging off your shoulder," Mercedes said dryly.

"Kay-ee," Karofsky said through a mouthful of food. He leaned across the table and snapped his fingers in Puck's face, breaking the line of sight directly to the woman's somewhat… ample breasts. He swallowed, then scowled. "She's Katie. Dude, you wanna talk to Katie, then talk to Katie. Not to Lucy and Rhonda. Good God, I should just hang a sign from her tits." He made quotation signs in the air. "Eyes up."

"Lucy and Rhonda?" Tina questioned, looking confused.

"It's what he named my breasts," Katie said dryly, lip twitching with amusement. "Back in college. It was one of those 'wash the car in wet t-shirts' fundraisers for my sorority. He wrote 'Lucy,'" she touched her left breast, "and 'Rhonda,'" her fingers moved to her right, "on two of those little 'Hello My Name Is' tags and stuck them to my boobs."

"Uh-uh," Karofsky said, shaking his head and looking a little dismayed. "You mixed them up! The *left* one is Rhonda and the *right* one is Lucy. Seriously, baby girl, don't you even know the names of your own tits?" He poked a finger into one, causing Katie to scowl deeply."

"Don't poke my boobs in restaurants, Dave."

"Oh, fine. I'll save it for my parents' house." He laughed loudly at the look on her face, wagging his eyebrows.

Kurt made a face. Apparently Karofsky was just as far in the closet as ever. Hell, he was in so far that he was probably finding Christmas presents from two years ago.

Will cleared his throat, looking a bit uncomfortable. "Oookay!" He sat down, his smile now looking more forced than ever. "So Mercedes is getting her preacher on, Puck is all over the cougar reality shows, and Mike is selling insurance but not marrying illegal immigrants. How about the rest of you?"

"Well, we know that Dave's been doing demolition! BOOM!" Puck and every other male at the table, excluding the two with good haircuts, cracked up, smacking the table in what Kurt assumed was supposed to be a manly way but came off more like a bunch monkeys in a circus, at least in his opinion. He shot a confused look at Will, who just shrugged.

"Okay," Will said slowly, stubbornly pasting that wide smile on his face. "So Dave has been doing construction. I hear that's a very profitable business!"

Karofsky's face twisted into one of those absolutely evil grins, and he tongued the side of his mouth as he nodded toward Will, leaning conspiratorially toward Mrs. Big Breasts. "You're a cheerleader, baby. Tell me, does it hurt to smile that hard all the time?"

"Oh, shut up, Dave," she said with a grin, balling up a delicate hand into an even more delicate fist and miming punching him in the face.

Too bad she hadn't actually done it. Kurt would have paid to see that.

"Go stuff some more food in your mouth so that the grown ups at the table can have big people talk," she said, sniffing. "And I mean that in a 'our brains have developed past Kindergarten' way, not in a 'you weigh three hundred pounds' kind of way."

"He's a football player, Mr. Shue," Mike explained, nodding at Karofsky. "Tight end for the Dallas Cowboys. They won the Super Bowl last year."

"Which is how I ended up with a ring that probably cost more than my damn house," Karofsky said with a snort, waving what was, in fact, a *very* large, diamond covered ring in the air. The thing was big enough to make even the sausages Karofsky called fingers look small.

Kurt stared at it for a long moment, not even realizing he'd been shaking his head until Mercedes touched him gently on the shoulder. He swallowed deeply.

"You… you're a *football* player?" he asked, voice filled with disbelief. His tormentor was a professional *football* player? What the hell happened to karma? The biggest bully in the universe had ended up playing pro sports? Okay, it sort of made sense, considering that football was just a bunch of bullies ramming each other as they chased after a weird looking ball. But still… where was the justice in the world?

"Yup. How 'bout you, Fancy? I've been watchin' for you on 'Ellen.' You selling designer shoelaces or something?" He grinned widely at him and Kurt had the urge to shiver. Really, all these years and the man could still creep him out with a single look.

"Actually, I am teaching theatre at McKinley," he replied, tilting his nose up in the air as he waited for whatever rude, homophobic remark would surely pop out of King Kong's mouth.

"Heh. Cool. I bet the kids like you."

Kurt started to spit out his own rude remark regarding what getting hit in the head for a living could do to a man's IQ, then cut off as his mind processed the words. What the hell? That was it? No smack down, no rude remark about stage makeup, no limp wrist movements—

"And hey, what better excuse to dress like a chick and sing like your balls never dropped than 'I teach Shakespeare,' right?"

Ah hah. There it was. Tardy, but not absent.

Karofsky and his little pet cheerleader both cracked up at this and Kurt scowled deeply, glaring at Puck, who was laughing flat out, and Finn, who was trying to hide it with his hand. Screw this. He was not sixteen anymore and he was not going to put up with this shit. Not anymore.

"Go to hell, Karofsky! Take your homophobic idiocy and go back to the pig farm where you were raised!"

The blonde girl's eyes widened and she raised her hands. "Hey, he was just teasing." She smiled at him—the little tart was probably used to getting whatever she wanted with that slutty grin. "I mean, you do dress very pretty." She waved a hand vaguely at his beaded, purple waistcoat.

"And that gives you people the excuse to make fun of me? Because I choose to dress fashionably instead of like I just fell out of a Dukes of Hazard rerun?"

She frowned. "He was *kidding.* He's really a big teddy bear, he just jokes a lot—" she cut off when Karofsky put a hand on her arm, shaking his head.

"It's okay, Katie-pie." He paused, a sad little smile forming on his face, even as he let out a chuckle. "Another fail moment. Yeah. Uh, sorry, Hummel."

Kurt blinked. Had Karofsky really just… apologized? He glanced sharply at his drink. No, he hadn't sipped it since Karofsky sat down—there was no way the man could have slipped anything into it.

"A fail moment?" the blonde bombshell asked, looking confused.

Karofsky shook his head. "Yeah, that's what 'Zimio called it every time I tried to, uh, talk to Kurt senior year of high school. 'Fail' moments. They sort of ended with Kurt running away as fast as possible, me pouting, and Az smacking me on the back of the head saying 'dude—flowers!'"

The girl snickered. "Shit, you *must* have been bad if *Azimio's* advice looked good."

"What the hell are you even talking about? Fail moments? When did you ever fail to absolutely terrify me, huh, Karofsky?" He gestured at the table. "Why are you even *here*? You *hate* us. If you're waiting for a slushie machine to magically appear, well, you're gonna have to wait until dawn breaks and pick one up on campus tomorrow. All they have here are regular sodas, and heaven knows those don't give the same 'chill' effect." He schooched his chair as far as he could from the man. "Why don't you and Barbie go and have your romantic dinner?" He laughed aloud at that. "This dinner is for Glee Club members, not overgrown bullies and their trophy girlfriends."

"Kurt!" Mercedes said, sounding shocked.

He glared at her. "You know the things he did to me. Do you really want to eat with this oaf?"

"Kurt, sometimes we have to forgive—"

"Don't even give me that Jesus crap right now, Mercedes. I am not in the mood." He swallowed down the pain that shot through his chest as Karofsky's face twisted into something furious, eyes narrowed and mouth twisted to the side.

"Hey, what the hell? My 'trophy' girlfriend? Barbie? I get your grief with me, but what're you dissin' her for, man? She hasn't done nothing to you!"

"Kind of like I never did anything to you?" Kurt retorted.

Karofsky sucked in a deep breath, jaw clenched. He was silent for a long moment before he responded, voice low and rough. "Yeah, well, last time I checked you were a better guy than me, Hummel. Have you changed that much?"

Kurt opened his mouth to respond, then shut it again, staring hard into Karofsky's eyes. God, this reunion was supposed to be *fun,* not bring up every painful memory he had. "Please," he said quietly, "just go, Karofsky. I want to catch up with my friends. The… things that happened between you and I? I just can't deal with them right now."

Karofsky stared at him for a long moment, then dropped his eyes, rubbing at his forehead with one massive hand. "Yeah," he muttered. "I… I should go. I shouldn't have… yeah." He stood, head bowed, and gently set a hand on his friend's shoulder. "C'mon, baby, let's go."

She stared up at him, looking troubled, then sighed, nodding, and stood.

Karofsky looked back over the table, nodding at his jock friends. "I'll see you guys tomorrow, I guess. I dunno. Coach mentioned something about, um, rescheduling practice or something, so I just don't know. Might have to head back to Cleveland."

Puck shot Mike a disbelieving look and Mike shook his head.

"Dude, you are so full of shit. We'll see ya tomorrow. Eleven sharp, or Coach Beiste will make us run laps from here to Uranus."

"Is that far?" Finn questioned, frowning.

Karofsky gave a sort of half grin and shrugged one big shoulder. "I dunno. You better call NASA and ask." He reached down to grab his jacket, managing to just about shove his quite well toned bottom in Kurt's face.

Really, if the guy weren't absolutely terrifying, he would be pretty hot. ...that is, if Kurt was into sweaty, chubby guys.

Which he totally, absolutely was not.

Karofsky yanked on his jacket, those big arms flexing with the effort, then flat out smiled at Kurt, giving him another one of those 'kind of creepy in an almost sexy way' winks that were practically the man's calling card.

"Later, boys. Later, Hummel." And the rather attractive butt wandered off, unfortunately very much attached to the lumbering ignoramus.

As subtly as possible, Kurt tugged his napkin off the edge of the table, letting it fall into his lap.

God, he missed the days when he could just blame it on hormones.


	5. Ch 5: How Bout Dem Saints?

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

**Ch. 5: How Bout Dem Saints?**

Dave lay flat on his back on the bed, staring upward at the little glowing screen of his phone.

Damn, damn, DAMN! Why couldn't he ever keep his goddamn mouth shut? Every time it opened around that pretty boy, something stupid came out—and somehow he didn't think that Kurt would ever agree to going on a date at Pete's Conies just so that Dave could be sure his mouth was always stuffed full of chili cheese dog and, therefore, incapable of spewing stupid shit.

He was just too used to hanging out with guys who didn't give a shit. After all, he was a queer. That gave him free reign to make queer jokes.

And to poke Katie's boobs.

Hell, he was an NFL player. If he started crying every time one of his boys slipped up in practice and called someone a fag, well, his nose would be dripping more snot than blood—and his nose had dripped a lot of blood over the years. Yeah, okay, it sometimes pissed him off, but not like those dudes that picketed funerals saying how faggots were ruining the country or whatever. His boys didn't mean shit by it, it was just something they were raised saying, like a staple of the culture. They called each other 'ladies,' too, like having a vagina automatically made you useless or something. And Hernandez just took it with a laugh when someone made a joke about seventy-three Mexicans all living in a cardboard box. It was Texas. Mexican jokes abounded. You got used to it and learned to take it in a stride, or you moved to New Jersey, where Jewish jokes abounded instead. No, it wasn't PC. It was the real world. In Dave's mind you either acquired a sense of humor for that shit or you went through life pissed off at everything. And he wasn't about to pull what some of the gay dudes he'd known over the years had done and totally cut himself off from all that wasn't stereotypically 'gay.' Hell, the truth was, he *didn't* like purple, he *didn't* care that he had chewed-on nails and calloused hands, and he *didn't* have any interest in shopping whatsoever—unless it was for hunting gear or sports jerseys.

Seriously, some people just needed to take a chill pill.

"What do you *mean* you like apples?" Dave said in a whiny voice. "Are you calling me a fruit?" He raised his voice an octave higher. "No, I think he's talking about my boobs! Sexist, homophobic jerk!"

Katie stuck her head out of the bathroom, her wet hair dripping down her face. "D? You okay, babe?" She smirked. "Talking to your imaginary friends again, sweety?"

He glared at her, then turned back to stare up at his phone. "I'm brilliant. Or I was until your towel fell down and flashed me."

She snorted, shaking her head as she retreated back into the bathroom to spread smelly stuff all over her ass or whatever chicks did for, like, three hours before going to bed.

Dave scowled at the phone.

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel**: Can you believe that JERK tonight?

**See all 51 comments.**

**Rev. Mercedes Jones**: I don't think he meant to be an ass, Kurt.

**Puck-a-Saurus**: nah, he really didn't. that was totally big D being nice.

**Kurt Hudson-Hummel**: If that's nice Karofsky, I'm terrified to know what mean Karofsky's like!

**Puck-a-Saurus**: i got the last Cowboys game on DVR. u can see mean there.

**Sam "I Am" Evans:** u want us 2 beet him up?

**Finn Hudson**: NOOOOOOO

**Rachel Berry**: Is this gonna b a repeat of junior year, finn. Backing out when your brother needs u?

**Finn Hudson:** YES

**Quinn Fabray:** How sweet of you, Finn. When did you become a *total* coward?

**Finn Hudson:** HE SAT ON ME!

**Rachel Berry:** …?

**Quinn Fabray**: Okay, confused here.

**Finn Hudson:** HE'LL SIT ON ME AGAIN!

**Rachel Berry:** What r u talking about, Finn?

**Finn Hudson:** I DON'T WANT HIM TO SIT ON ME!

**Puck-a-Saurus: **senior year, after big D locked kurt in the janitor's closet? Finn got up in his face. alone. Dave sat on him.

**Finn Hudson**: i was CRUSHED. His ass is like a medieval torture device w/ football pads.

**Rachel Berry:** What an asshole! We cannot let him get AWAY with this!

**Puck-a-Saurus**: …it was 7 yrs ago, rachel

**Rachel Berry:** Injustice!

**Puck-a-Saurus**: ok, you know there's a problem when I'M the voice of reason…

**Satan-a Lopez:** He's kinda hot. In a man-giant sort of way.

**Rev. Mercedes Jones**: I think he's taken, Santana. You wouldn't want to piss off Lucy and Rhonda.

**Puck-a-Saurus:** thats sooo cool. i wanna name my girl's boobs!

**Finn Hudson**: i don't want him 2 sit on me.

**Sam "I Am" Evans:** my abs r bettr than hiz

**Finn Hudson: **i think his weight snapped my spine?

**Rev. Mercedes Jones**: LOL, I don't think he broke your spine Finn. It looks okay to me.

**Finn Hudson:** it healed.

**Sam "I Am" Evans:** im gonna be like superman when i grow up & karofsky can be my sidekick. we can B SAMerman and demolition dude!

**Puck-a-Saurus:** …

**Rachel Berry:** …

**Rev. Mercedes Jones:** …What DO you say to that?

**Satan-a Lopez**: So u ARE gay, Sam?

**Sam "I Am" Evans**: huh?

**Satan-a Lopez: **Nothing. Inside joke. Be sure to try your tights on before you buy. Wouldn't want them to pinch your balls.

**Tina Cohen-Chang:** Kerofski is kind of an asshoe. I mean, putting your gf on your shoulder because she doesn't want to go out w/ you? that is not one with the peaceful energy of mother earth's gentle pirouettes.

**Puck-a-Saurus**: u ppl take stuff WAY 2 seriously. U'd think he kidnapped her and stuffed her in his trunk. i like Dave. He hooked me up with my agent.

**Artie Abrams:** you used 2 put me in porta potties. of course you like him, puck.

**Puck-a-Saurus:** hey, he stuck me in a porta potty once. and i put glue in his shampoo. and he stuffed me in a garbage can. and i broke into his locker and replaced his jock strap with a pink thong. but tomorrow we be boys again!

**Finn Hudson:** i rode dave once. save a horse ride a cowboy! get it? Like the DALLAS cowboys? HAHAHAHAHA!

**Satan-a Lopez:** wtf?

**Rev. Mercedes Jones:** …

**Quinn Fabray**: Is this a story that we really want to hear?

**Michael Chang:** He means in football practice. Dave pissed off Beiste so she made him crawl on hands and feet across the field with Finn sitting on his back using his jersey as reins.

**Rev. Mercedes Jones:** LMAO!

**Finn Hudson:** but i still don't want him to sit on me.

**Artie Abrams:** so he's a small minded jerk. Is anyone surprised?

**Rev. Mercedes Jones:** No.

**Tina Cohen-Chang**: no.

**Quinn Fabray:** Not a bit.

**Satan-a Lopez**: uh-uh

**Finn Hudson:** he sat on me.

**Rachel Berry**: Nope.

**Brittany SPierce**: r u a chair?

**Sam "I Am" Evans**: …what wuz the questyun?

Dave scowled deeply. Fuck. This. Shit.

**Dave Karofsky Likes New Directions**

**Dave Karofsky:** u thought senior yr was bad, hudson? huh? huh? I weigh 300 pounds now, boy! WITHOUT PADS!

**Finn Hudson:** O_O

**Finn Hudson: **pls dont sit on me!

**Dave Karofsky:** and yo, nude erections! its called a public forum 4 a reason! Who's the bully now?

**Puck-a-Saurus:** hi dave. me & mike r gonna hit a bar, get some man time in, just us football players. U wanna come?

**Dave Karofsky:** u still ejaculate prematurely?

**Puck-a-Saurus: **YO, THE SEX SHARK IS IN FOR THE LONG SWIM!

**Dave Karofsky:** Not u, numb nuts. Hudson

**Finn Hudson:** no, I'm dating a postal wrker. & we keep the junk mail beside the bed.

**Dave Karofsky: **…dont explain that. i dont wanna know.

**Puck-a-Saurus:** so, u in?

Dave gritted his teeth, staring at the screen for a long moment before he let out a loud sigh, the anger leaving him in a rush. What was there to be pissed about? They'd *hated* each other in high school. Had he really expected all the slushie facials to just wash away, no stains left? Hell, the things could turn your skin blue for days. Kurt was never gonna forgive him, and how could he really blame him? Shit, he'd scared *himself* sometimes. And now… well, he could stay at the hotel with Katie-pie and angst about it, or he could go get drunk with the boys.

It wasn't a hard decision.

**Dave Karofsky:** sure, let's get wasted. what time?

He *was* a dude, after all. And, no. He *really* didn't want to talk about it.

**Artie Abrams:** I was on the team 2, guys.

**Dave Karofsky:** u wanna come, wheels?

**Artie Abrams: **It would be nice to be invited.

**Dave Karofsky:** *hands invite*

**Artie Abrams**: thnx

**Rachel Berry:** I don't think this is loyal to Kurt.

**Dave Karofsky:** they were my friends too, hobbit.

**Puck-a-Saurus:** we gonna rock da hooooouse!

**Sam "I Am" Evans**: what about me.

**Puck-a-Saurus:** sure, u come too

**Dave Karofsky**: just wear a shirt that covers ur abs, ok evans? Finn, u in?

**Finn Hudson:** r u gonna sit on me?

**David Karofsky**: No.

**Finn Hudson: **promise?

**Dave Karofsky:** I promise

**Finn Hudson**: pinky swear?

**Dave Karofsky**: i solemnly swear that i will not sit on u.

**Finn Hudson**: ur awesome.

**Dave Karofsky:** :) mind if I bring azimio?

**Michael Chang**: he's not in prison yet?

**Dave Karofsky**: he's a suburban housewife, actually. wife wants to be, like, on the supreme court or some shit. new baby. throws up a lot.

**Finn Hudson**: can I ride u again, dave?

**Dave Karofsky:** …let's discuss this in a place where my sponsors can't see it. or my exes for that matter. or my wife—oh wait, she wouldnt care, she'd just wanna watch lol

**Puck-a-Saurus:** yo, Lima, DA TITANS ARE IN DA HOUSE! what time is it?

**Finn Hudson:** gAME TIME!

**Dave Karofsky**: GAME TIME!

**Brittany SPierce:** 11:20

**Michael Chang**: it's game time!

**Sam "I Am" Evans**: GAIM TYM!

**Artie Abrams**: …am i supposed to say game time now?

**Dave Karofsky**: ok, dude, remind me to buy u a jock jams CD or somethin.

**Puck-a-Saurus**: just come to the bar, wheels. see you boys in a few!

o o o o o o o o o o

"Yo, Demo! Over here, bro!" Dave glanced over to the side of the bar, forcing himself himself to grin as he waved at Azimio.

Apparently he was the last to arrive, not a real surprise considering that, in an effort to draw enthusiasm for the outing after the little fuck up at Breadstix, he'd driven to three gas stations and confiscated all the stale donuts, resulting in his stuffing a total of twenty-seven glazed and thirteen chocolate iced into his big mouth. Katie would probably be able to instantly multiply in her head the number of kilometers he would have to run at what velocity to burn off the calories. God bless cheerleaders. Ha.

Honestly, Dave just wanted a bacon cheeseburger and a smack in the back of the head now. What the fuck was wrong with him? He should be pumped! Seeing old friends after all these years. And, hell, he'd even managed to make a success out of himself—truthfully, if you'd asked him in high school what he'd be doing when he was twenty-five he probably would have said shelling peanuts at a factory to pay for his diabetes medications.

Those really hadn't been his best years. He hadn't exactly had high hopes for himself then.

But it was just hard to grin when you felt so damn alone. Shit, the only person he had was Katie and, as much as he loved the girl, standing at that altar had been like being dumped on the island in 'Lost,' only there was no one to help him build huts out of bamboo or make sweet love in the rainforest.

Dave palmed the sweat off of his forehead and straightened his shoulders. Good God, he really was turning into a woman. Whine, whine, whine was just about all he did these days.

Shit, he really needed to get laid.

Dave moved over toward the table where they were gathered, probably 'cause wheelchair dude couldn't roll up to the bar, and punched his friend lightly in the shoulder as he sank down into the last remaining chair. "Yo man."

"Been waitin' for you, maaaan!" Finn said with a dopey grin that Dave recognized well from the parties at Santana's place. For doctors, her folks sure kept a lot of booze in the house—the place made his frat house look tame. He smirked at the empty bottles gathered at the center of the table. Someone had already had a few.

Finn leaned conspiratorially over toward Azimio, lowering his voice as if he had some sort of secret. "He's not gonna sit on me," he said in a whisper loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear as he grinned at the other man. "He PINKY SWEARED."

Azimio burst into a choking sort of laughter, covering his mouth with one hand. "That's great, Hudson. Y'know my boy Dave *always* keeps his pinky swears." He held his pinky out with a wink and Dave grasped it with his own, chuckling.

"So, can I ride you, Karofsky?" Finn asked cheerfully, a bright smile on his face.

This time Azimio actually *did* choke on his beer, and Dave rolled his eyes as he pounded on his friend's back, laughing and shaking his head. When Azimio had recovered, Dave shrugged his shoulders, grinning.

"Hey, the boy likes me." He burst into laughter at the absolutely terrified look on Azimio's face. "Relax man, skinny and premature ain't my type. He wants to sit on my back while I crawl around on the floor."

One of Azimio's eyebrows shot up and he shook his head, laughing. "Ah. Ooookay. Hudson, ya may wanna phrase that just a wittle bit different in the future, man." He took a swig of beer. "How the hell you get on that topic to begin with?"

"Rachel wants me to beat up Dave!" Finn said way, way too cheerfully. "But I don't want him to sit on me!"

"Rachel?"

"The Jewish hobbit," Dave said dryly. "With the gold stars and the ugly ass sweaters."

"Oh, yeah… the weirdo Finn dated. With the, like, stalkerish calendars and a necklace with 'is name on it." Azimio chuckled. "Why she want you to risk your life at the hands of Sasquatch over here, man? She take the 'riding' comment in the wrong way?"

"Noooo," Finn said, teetering a little. "'Cause he's a meanie to Kurt! And Kurt's my brother! YAY!" He waved his hands around the air haphazardly enough that Artie had to duck to avoid being hit in the face.

Azimio started to chuckle, then frowned as Dave made a 'hmph' noise and sank down in his chair, scowling. "Oh, for God's *sake*," Azimio said, crossing his arms over his chest and cocking his head to the side with a 'what the hell?' look on his face. "You got it so bad, bro. Really, you need to, like, pick yourself up a Ms. Manners manual or some shit. You scare him *again*?"

Dave's cheeks warmed and he scowled deeply, grabbing his beer and chugging back about half the bottle before slamming it down on the table hard enough to make the guys jump. "I. Was. Just. *Kidding.* Dammit!"

"Pissed him off, then."

"I was just *joking*."

Azimio shook his head, flashing a disbelieving grin at the other guys. "I swear, this boy is just a riot of a train wreck waiting to happen! Honest to God, his eighteenth b-day? I bought him one of those, you know, gender manuals or whatever that Docta Phil was getting his Oprah on about. Took a sharpie, scratched out the title, rewrote it as 'Fat Men are from Mars, Fancy Men are from Venus,' wrapped it up with a pretty bow, and gave it to him along with a DVD set of 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.' But does he EVER listen to me? O' course not." He snickered, leaning forward toward the guys, elbows on the table. "Instead he nicks little wedding cake statues and sits 'em on his dresser to stare at while he yanks off or whatever."

"Fuck you, Az," Dave muttered, sinking a little lower. "Do they have bacon cheeseburgers here?"

"'Cause, y'know, THAT is how ya land your Pretty," Azimio continued as if he hadn't spoken, smirking. "I say: Dude. Flowers. A dinner date. Maybe a cheesy movie that you'll probably hate but it's okay 'cause you can share a straw or something."

"This coming from the guy who gave girls his dick in a box?" Dave replied, rolling his eyes and waving in the general direction of one of the very bustified waitresses who worked in this place. "I didn't scare him on *purpose*—hey, sweetheart, can I get a menu? Thanks." He sighed, leaning forward a little morosely. "I mean, it wasn't like, oh I wanna scare the sissy boy—okay, well sometimes it was. But mostly not! Everything I said just came out… wrong, y'know?" He raised his eyebrows, shrugging. "Worse than dealing with chicks, I swear."

Azimio snorted. "You just have an easy time with girls 'cause the ladies can't kick you outta their beds since you don't be sleeping there to begin with, boyo."

Puck looked from one man to the other, brow wrinkled slightly. "Okay, am I the only one here who has no idea what the fuck you dudes are talking about, or are you guys lost, too? Dave jerks off to wedding cake things, only scared Kurt on accident, is from Mars, and needs to read Dr. Phil?"

Artie raised a hand. "I totally drove off Makes Sense Road a couple of sentences back."

"I suck at dating," Dave said flatly, grabbing the menu from the waitress that had just wandered over and flipping it open with a deep scowl. "You got a bacon cheeseburger on here? Yeah? Well, I want that." He smacked the menu down on the table, making the waitress jump, and sighed deeply as he watched her scurry away. "See? Like that. I *suck* at dealing with pretty people!"

Azimio snickered. "Well, you could always just walk up to Hummel tomorrow and offer to suck his dick in the locker room-then maybe he'd forgive you for being a dumbass."

Dave raised an eyebrow at his friend, lip twitching in amusement in spite of himself. "Suck Fancy's dick. Oh, yeah, totally, that's just what I'll do, Az." Azimio snorted with laughter and Dave faked a worried look. "Oh, but, dude… I think the height differences would be a serious problem! I'd get a crick in my neck trying to get my homo on."

"Pretty could stand on the bench."

Dave laughed. "Nah, that's *totally* an unstable set up. I've tried it before with an unnamed dude in a random public restroom at a kinky club I don't remember, with him standing on a toilet seat. He fell off, hit his head, and had to get twelve stitches."

Azimio sputtered with laughter. "Okay, fine, lemme pull out my kama sutra knowledge... peacock boy could lay on the floor and you could lay on top of him."

"Okay, one: the weight of my shoulders would probably break his legs. Two: you really think Fancy would lay on a locker room floor? I think he's more of a twenty *billion* thread count sheet type. And the sheets totally gotta match the clothes he just took off."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Mike said, looking a little annoyed as he held out a hand, glancing around at the other guys at the table. "Okay, now is when we halt all conversation. What the hell are we talking about? Seriously, you guys, don't you do anything but make fun of gay dudes?"

Finn took another swig of beer and smiled brightly. "I tink dat Dave's too tall to give 'ead."

"I am not too tall to give head," Dave replied. "Some guys are just too damn short." He rubbed underneath the back of his collar. "I'd need a damn neck brace in the morning." Azimio cracked up at that and Dave grabbed his third beer, tipping it back. "When did homo sex get so damn complicated? I didn't know you needed to do geometry to be queer."

"Yeah, it's an equeertion. The height of Gay A(GA) minus the length of Gay A's lower legs(GAL) must be equal or near equal to height of Gay B from the dick down." Azimio laughed as Dave snorted his beer.

"Okay, stop, halt, yield, *whatever,*" Artie said sharply, frowning deeply. "Back up, okay! Look, man, I'm all for second chances and shit, but I think we've taken the homo jokes too far at this point, okay? Look, Karofsky, it is *not* cool to make fun of someone else's sexuality! They're born like that! It's not something you can pick and choose!"

"No shit," Dave said, scowling. "Seriously, why the fuck does everyone just assume that I'm an asshole, like, 24/7, as if you know shit about me, huh?"

"Because you kind of acted like an asshole 24/7?" Mike replied helpfully, shrugging when Dave glared at him.

"Oh, like you guys were such upstanding citizens. You stepped in for Hummel, like, once! And don't you even try and pretend you didn't call each other fags when you were running laps. *I* fucking well heard you." Dave's face heated up a little at the thought and he clenched his fist around the bottle he was holding. Where the HELL was that cheeseburger?

"Hey," Puck said, "we backed up Kurt."

Dave snorted. "Oh, yeah, you were SO totally there for pretty boy! Right by his side! At least until he and all your little girlfriend fag hags were out of earshot. Then the lousy way Mike threw the ball was just so 'gay' and the way Artie couldn't lift the heavy weights made him a 'homo' and Puck caring what his 'hawk looked like was so 'faggy.'" He sneered and leaned back, shaking his head as he glared at them.

"Hey man," Azimio said with a shrug, "you know I ain't gonna bother to deny it."

"Look," Artie replied, looking annoyed, "okay, maybe we weren't perfect, but we were Kurt's *friends*—"

"You were a bunch of two-faced punks," Dave cut in flatly. He turned in his seat a little to glare at the kitchen. "Where the FUCK is my cheeseburger?" He sighed then shook his head rapidly, as if he could ever clear all this shit out of his mind. "I was a teenager, dammit! Yeah, I was an asshole to Hummel—more than *you* shitheads even know. But I didn't do it 'cause I hated *him*! I did it 'cause I hated *me*!" He let out a harsh laugh. "It felt like the whole damn world was watching my every fuckin' move!"

"Um, here's your burger, sir—"

Dave yanked the plate from her hand, dropping it onto the table with a thud, then grabbed the hamburger, shoving as much of it as he could physically fit into his mouth.

God, *yes.*

He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath and staring down at what was left of his meal for a moment before looking up to glare at the other men at the table, who apparently now had nothing to say—not that the confused looks on their face didn't say plenty. "I was fucking *terrified,* every second of every fucking *day* that Kurt Hummel would open his pretty little mouth and *ruin* my damn life! God!" He shoved the rest of the cheeseburger into his mouth and Azimio reached out, grabbing his shoulder and giving it a squeeze.

"Hey man," he said, in a voice he probably meant to be cool and collected but sounded a hell of a lot more like 'talking you down from the ledge of a mile high building.' "They didn't know, dude. They didn't know you. Hell, they don't know ya now, bro. They just don't get it."

"We don't get it? You think we should all just be cool with the fact you tormented Kurt, just because you were depressed or pissy or whatever?" Artie questioned, voice bordering on angry. "Forget that. Karofsky, I don't care what your intentions were, okay? Yeah, we weren't perfect but our lives weren't all rainbows and sunshine and *we* still managed to avoid threatening to *kill* someone because we didn't like something about them! Shit man, I can't walk! You think that's all fun and games? But you didn't feel happy enough being the popular football player, so it's okay that you bullied Kurt endlessly? I mean, what are you even *talking* about, you were all 'terrified'? What did you have to be afraid of? *Kurt* was the one terrified all the time because *you* told him you were gonna kill him if he told people you were bullying him!"

Dave let out a huff of laughter. "Honest truth? Hummel wasn't really the one I wanted to off."

"Y'know what?" Azimio cut in, sounding nervous, his voice a little too high. "I could use another beer. Why don't we all have another beer?" He waved at the waitress. "So, how 'bout dem Saints, huh? That was a good game on Sunday!"

"I just wanted him to like me, you know," Dave said dully, staring at his now empty plate and really starting to wish he'd ordered a rack of ribs on the side. Or just on another, very large plate. "To prove to him that I was more than a sweaty, chubby bully. But I guess in the end being a fat ass saved my life."

Azimio winced and hurriedly sipped at his beer. "Man, their right tackle—he took down some serious tail! That worry you, Dave? You guys play 'em in two weeks, right?"

"Were you really glad that rod broke, Az?" Dave questioned idly as he contemplated whether or not a sixth beer would turn him into a whimpering, whiny girl. "Or did you wish, deep down, that when you opened that closet I hadn't been breathing?"

This time it was Azimio who slammed his beer down on the table-hard enough that the glass actually broke. Dave jumped slightly, making a noise of protest when Azimio grabbed him by the collar and yanked him forward until their noses were almost touching, glaring furiously at him. "Fuck you, David! Fuck you all the way to hell and back again!" His teeth were bared as he bodily shook the other man. Dave shoved at him but Azimio just smacked his fist down, shaking him again. "Fuck you for making me find my best friend in da whole damn world—hell, the only dude in that school who didn't make me wanna throw him in a Porta Potty and send it rollin' down a hill—passed out in a goddamn closet with a mothafucking belt around his neck. Yeah, I'm glad you be a fat ass, man, 'cause I swear to God Himself, if that bar hadn't broken, I'd have climbed in your fancy little four wheel drive and taken the highway to hell just to kick your sorry ass! Woohoo. You're a faggot. It's the end of the world as we know it. Time to die now! Oh dear Lord, almighty! You kissed the pretty boy! What you think was gonna happen? That I'd start tossin' slushies in yo' face? Hell, you'd just sit on me and God knows it's hard to throw a cup of flavored ice when you got yourself a freakin' offensive lineman sittin' on yo' ribcage! Thought I'd lock you in a john, maybe? You could probably use your fat ass to burst down the goddamn door—then I'd be the one gettin' tossed into Dumpsters! Or hell, you could skip the tossin' and just tell my mom where I hid my porn! Either way I'd be knee high in shit!" He shoved Dave away with a disbelieving laugh. "I swear to God, Karofsky, you are so fuckin' stupid sometimes that it hurts. How you get so little brains in that big ol' head o' yours?"

There was a long silence as the guys around the table glanced uncomfortably at each other. Dave licked his lips nervously and opened the the menu. Rack of ribs… there had to be ribs on there somewhere.

More uncomfortable silence.

Dammit! Okay, okay, calm. Deep breath. No ribs. Hot wings. There *had* to be hot wings. What kind of sports bar didn't have hot wings?

After a very uncomfortable amount of quiet time, the silence was broken when Artie cleared his throat and spoke, very slowly. "Karofsky… you, uh, are... gay...ish?"

Dave glanced up from the menu and let out a little huff of laughter at the look on Artie's face. Kind of like he was afraid Dave might just pick up his oversized arm and slam it into his face. Really, that was what they'd gotten from that little outburst of semi-drunk insanity? Of course, why the hell not? People tried to kill themselves over nothing all the time. An NFL offensive lineman who took it up the ass was new territory.

Really, he could use some hot wings. Immediately.

There was another silence. A Very. Long. Silence. Finally, when it was talk or scream, Dave took a sip of beer and set the menu aside, pasting a smile on his face as he leaned forward, resting his chin on one arm. "So. How *bout* dem Saints?"

"Oh YEAH, did you *see* their defensive tackle?" Azimio jumped in, as ready as any red-blooded, all American male would be to latch onto the chance to just not talk about it.

A pause and then:

"That dude's a *killer,*" Mike agreed, apparently willing to go where all men have gone before and leave the deep, truthful bonding moments to the ladies.

Thank God.

"Totally," Artie added after a moment. "He makes my wheelchair battering ram look like a feather pillow."

"Trust me," Dave said ruefully, rubbing his ribs as he motioned for the waitress. "I *know*. Been there, felt that."

"Hey," Puck said, "you think you could score us tickets to the Brown's game on Sunday, Dave?"

Hell, if the boys were willing to let sleeping dogs snore forever, Dave would get them goddamn season tickets.

"Puckster, I can score you a box."


	6. Ch 6: Ride a Dallas Cowboy

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

**Ch. 6: Save a Horse, Ride a (Dallas) Cowboy**

"Well hello, Porcelain."

Kurt's shoulders tightened at the sound of Sue's voice. Just when he had thought the coast was clear. He should have known better than to think he could make it all the way down the hall on a day that he had something which did not bear the Sue Sylvester Seal of Approval planned. Hell, opening night of his last production she had managed to co-op the auditorium right out from under him when she'd released bats backstage and then convinced Figgins that vampires had infested the school.

He turned around slowly, a fake smile pasted on his face. Sue was leaning against the far wall… caressing the fire alarm? Oh, dear God, he was really not in the mood for a repeat of the Britney Spears sex riot right now… even if it *had* been amusing to see Sue in a neck brace. "Coach Sylvester. How lovely to see you." He looked down pointedly at the bags full of edible goodies that he was carrying, shifting them around. "As you can see I have my hands full right now, but if you'd like to chat, feel free to leave your card in my teacher's box and I will be sure to give you a call as soon as I have nothing better to do."

Sue just raised an eyebrow. "Considering the amount of time you spend smearing beauty products made by small children in India across your skin, I'm surprised you have time to wax your legs. I see that you managed to evade my attempts to give your little reunion the proper burial it deserves." She smiled in a way that made Kurt a little worried that he would open the choir door only to set off ten tons of fertilizer and molasses cleverly molded into a confetti filled bomb. "So, being the humanitarian that I am, I just wanted to be sure you know where to find the fire alarm. You know, just in case I decide that your gathering of castrated cabaret boys should be cremated instead."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Is that a threat, Coach?" he questioned sweetly. "Because you know that I now carry a concealed camera with me at all times—and no, it is not in my lipstick, so I would appreciate it if you returned my tube of Berry Bang Bordeaux."

"'I'm going to strangle you with a designer scarf' is a threat, Porcelain. 'I'm going to light a match near your product filled hair and let the flames fly' is a threat. 'I'm going to put Rheuhypnol in your teapot and have a party for two with you' is a *threat.* I'm merely commenting that, if your little club doesn't want to be remembered in the traditional way, six feet under with a hunk of rock on top, well, sitting in a man-sized urn on the counter next to my shake machine is a viable option." She smirked. "And you won't be getting your lipstick back. I found it quite useful for highlighting the areas where my Cheerios need to shed a few pounds. Its resemblance to dried blood really makes an impact."

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Well, that's just lovely, Sue. I am so glad my thirty dollar cosmetics have done you so much good-especially since they'd never do anything for your face, it being beyond salvage at this point." He sighed, shifting the bags again. "If I may ask, what are you even doing here on this bright, sunny Saturday morning? Shouldn't you be hiding in your trophy case, swallowing raw eggs and planning the transport of the twelve ostriches and a circus elephant that you ordered for this year's trip to Nationals? Surely Sue Sylvester didn't take time out of her busy schedule just to subtly-but-not-in-any-manner-in-which-I-could-sue-you threaten the lives of my Glee clubbers?"

Sue laughed. "I have my reasons, Porcelain." She reached into her pocket, pulling out an envelope with a sour look. "I heard it through your group of go-ahead-and-starve-already artist type's electronic grapevine that one Mr. Dave Whose Car Skis, or some other equally debilitating last name, has brought along a certain perky young blonde friend with a fake tan and faker tatas."

Kurt frowned. "Wait a second, you know Karofsky's girlfriend?"

Sue sniffed derisively. "*Know* her? Such a question implies that persons of her IQ count are capable of being labeled as homo sapiens rather than homo fakebreastus, the offshoot of a prehistoric race with an astonishing resemblance to Dolly Parton who were top heavy to the point that they walked on their hands, and who had the minds of chinchillas. I *know* little Miss Bust's former *cheerleading coach,* the one and only Urda Ewe." A dark look passed over her face. "In the past, Ms. Ewe has used her Victoria's Secret sponsorship to gift all her cheerleaders with breast implants, snatching the votes of male judges while simultaneously drawing good press to herself by allowing the transgendered manwoman on her squad to fulfill his/her dream to work as a waitress at Hooters. She is my greatest adversary.

"Just like the great General Washington against all the dark skinned savages who populated OUR land for thousands of years prior to his arrival with a legitimate Letter of Occupancy in one hand and a rifle in the other. To have those bouncy balls with a body attached in my town, spying on *me*—unacceptable!"

She held out the envelope, smiling. "What I have here is a letter of deportation signed by all the dues-paying members of the National Cheer Council, as well as several prominent state politicians and the judge who sentenced Lindsay Lohan. If she thinks that she can sneak in here and put a plug in Sue Sylvester's confetti cannons, well, that bottle blonde Indian princess has a date with the General—and I will hold my fire until I see the whites of her eyes, if they aren't completely hidden by her enormous breasts."

Kurt shook his head in disbelief. "You had her *deported*?"

Sue chuckled, leaning in toward him with a malicious look on her face. "I have blackmail victims in high places, Porcelain. Remember that the next time you want to put on a production that costs more than the paper mache set from the pilot episode of Star Trek."

Kurt just raised an eyebrow as she stalked past, watching her back as she marched down the hall. Really, if she didn't spend at least two hours a day hiding lesbian pornography throughout his classroom, he might actually like the woman. But that porno? Things he *never* wanted to see.

He started off toward the choir room once more, idly taking note of where *all* the fire alarms were placed, you know, just in case a flamethrower accidentally went off in the auditorium or something.

His pocket began to vibrate and he let out a sigh, struggling to balance both bags on one arm as he pulled out his phone. Dammit, he'd left three pages of directions to the school for Finn, naming at least five landmarks per block all the way to the parking lot. If he was lost again—he frowned at the screen. Why was Mercedes texting him? He'd thought she and the rest of the Glee clubbers, sans Finn who had hit the snooze button seven times before flinging the alarm across the room, had gone to breakfast together. Something about Puck needing to get his waffles on?

**TXT MSG from MY DARLING DIVA**: kurt, come to the football field. NOW. LMAO! Omg, u have to see this!

Kurt's brow furrowed slightly in confusion. Mercedes wanted him to come to the *football* field? What was she doing out there? He couldn't even get the girl to do speed mall-walks with him, much less take up an exercise routine involving contact with grass.

**TXT MSG RPLY**: ?

**TXT MSG from MY DARLING DIVA**: come 2 the football field. Ur bro is hilarious!

His brother? Hilarious? Yeah, when he forgot to put his pants on over his boxers before leaving for work. But on the football field? Only hilarious in the sadistic way that Sue would "C" it—the 2012 team had mostly sucked, and it hadn't *all* been the coaching.

Kurt stared at the phone for a moment then sighed, glancing down at the bags in his arms. He better find some place to hide these or they'd almost certainly be filled with laxatives when he came back, and that was something he did *not* want a repeat of. That PTA meeting had been horrible. But he supposed it had taught the parents a lesson about trying to limit the Cheerios' budget.

After rejecting Ms. Pillsbury's desk as likely to contain dangerous chemicals and behind the trophy case as too easy a find, he settled on sticking the bags in the the storage closet for the science lab. Better to have some contact with dead frog carcasses than anything Sue might slip into it.

Really, what could Finn be doing on the field that was so funny? If it had been Puckerman who had messaged him, *then* he might be afraid he was going to get an eyeful of his brother running laps butt naked with purple slinky hanging off of his penis—and God knew *that* was an image that he still hadn't managed to bleach from his mind—but, thankfully, Mercedes was not so easily amused.

Men. Can't live with them, can't get laid without them.

Kurt squinted as he pushed through the doors leading out to the field, shadowing his eyes with one hand. Believer or no, he said a little prayer that whatever was so funny did not involve cattle, urine, or dirty jock straps. In his time living with Finn he had learned that these three things were apparently quite the staples of male humor.

"Hey Kurt!" Mercedes called out, waving him over. "Come see this! God, this is so funny!" She cracked up as she turned her attention back to the field, a big grin on her face.

Kurt raised an eyebrow and followed her gaze, eyes widening as they met the source of all this amusement. Oh dear God.

"YEE HAH!" Finn yelled out, waving his hand in the air like he was going to rope something. "Yippe ki yi YAY!"

Well, at least it didn't involve urine. The cattle and the jockstraps were arguable considering that his brother was sitting on Karofsky's broad back as he moved across the field on just hands and feet, head down, as Finn used his t-shirt like reins, tugging him around as he laughed. Kurt shook his head in disbelief, mouth hanging open. "What the *hell* are they doing?" he finally asked as he watched Finn 'turn' Karofsky abruptly, the pair lumbering across the 30 yard line.

"Finn's riding Dave," Artie replied with a wide grin on his face. "Save a horse ride a Dallas Cowboy." He laughed again.

"I guess this proves that D keeps his promises," Puck said, smacking his thighs as he laughed.

"His promises?" Tina questioned through choking laughter.

"Last night Finn asked Karofsky if he could ride him," Mike replied, grinning as Finn 'reigned' Karofsky again, tugging him back toward the middle of the field. "Karofsky said that, if he got down right then, he'd just puke all over the floor, but if he wanted a ride then he could come to the field this morning and they could get their cowboy on."

Mike laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "God can you believe this? Beiste didn't know what she started all those years ago!"

Kurt snorted with laughter as Finn toppled off Karofsky's back and the other man started shouting something about him having a lousy seat. "Beiste?"

"Yeah," Artie replied. "Back senior year, Karofsky and Finn got in a fight and Karofsky decided to tie Finn to the bleachers with his shoe laces. Beiste said they needed to learn to play together without committing any misdemeanors, so she made Karofsky do sprints on his hands and feet with Finn sitting on his back. Puck started playing 'Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy' on his phone and it was downhill from there."

"Dear God," Kurt murmured, shaking his head at the other boys before glancing back at Karofsky and Finn, who were off across the field again. He bet the gay jokes had abounded after *that* little escapade. And would probably abound again after this. He wondered if Karofsky would get scary again or if he'd learned better closet creeper techniques over the years.

Kurt's eyebrow raised as Finn directed the big man toward them—and he was a very big man indeed. 'Chubby' had always been the first word to come to mind when he pictured Karofsky, what with his soft, rounded face and his big, dumb smirk… but the man moving across the field at a pretty impressive speed, considering that he was moving on hands and feet alone and had a fully grown man sitting on his back, did not fit the image. He was absolutely enormous, yes. Chubby… not so much.

Kurt couldn't help but let out a little 'oh' of appreciation as they came closer, Karofsky's arm muscles flexing tightly as he moved along and his basketball shorts falling forward to reveal cut, muscular thighs. His t-shirt strained against large pecs as Finn tugged at it and Kurt swallowed hard. Dave Karofsky was *definitely* one very big boy. One very strong, very muscular boy. Hell, considering his history with the man he should probably be terrified—those arms could probably snap him in half. But it was hard to feel nervous of someone crawling around with their ass in the air and a laughing man sitting on their back.

"Hey Kurt!" Finn called as he 'halted' Karofsky before them, the big man grinning up at the people laughing around him. "Look, I'm ridin' Dave!"

Kurt couldn't help but frown just a little at that, despite the humor of the situation. So it was 'Dave' now, was it? The boys must have had a very nice night of male bonding indeed. Maybe they had even puked up their guts in the same toilet, or urinated on the same tree stump.

"Yes, I can see that, Finn," he said, trying to simultaneously pull off a superiorly aloof tone and subtly check out the curvature of Karofsky's buttocks. Purely for the aesthetics of it, of course. Closet cases were not his type—but just because he wanted nothing to do with the person attached to the ass didn't mean he couldn't *look* at it. After all, it was evolution's artwork. And while natural selection may not have graced Karofsky with a brain, it had outdone itself when it came to muscle. Really, the man looked like something out of those manhustler magazines April Rhodes had given him sophomore year.

Kurt smiled primly, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps after snack time we can all go to the playground together!"

Mercedes elbowed him lightly, laughing. "Oh, c'mon, Kurt—you gotta admit it's pretty damn funny."

Kurt chuckled. Absolutely ridiculous was more like it, and it just got worse when Finn reached out and slapped Karofsky's butt. Really, it looked like Yogis Gone Wild or something, Karofsky panting as he held himself up on hands and toes, Finn just lounging back like he was sitting on a sofa or something… "Really," he said with a laugh, "you boys are *so* silly sometimes!"

"Ya want a ride, Fancy?" Karofsky asked, tilting his head up to reveal a rather wicked grin. "This fucker weighs a ton. You'd be a vacation, little thing."

Puck cracked up again. "Oh yeah! C'mon, Kurt, ride Dave!"

Kurt shook his head, grinning in disbelief but amused at the idea in spite of himself. Seriously though, the last thing he needed was to do something that would have the entire Glee club talking about how he'd ridden Karofsky. *That* was just a Fury to the face waiting to happen. "I don't think so, gentleman. Some of us actually *matured* after sixth grade graduation."

"Aw, c'mon," Karofsky said, sticking his lower lip out in a ridiculous way. "Save a horse, ride a cowboy! Save all the innocent ponies!" He nodded his head at Tina. "Ain't that right, Birkenstock?"

She laughed, nodding. "Oh yes. Animal welfare s very important."

Finn grinned widely and swung his leg over Karofsky's back, hopping off. Karofsky let out an exaggerated sigh of relief and stretched upward, the muscles in his thighs catching Kurt's eye. Again. Dammit.

"C'mon, Kurt," Finn urged with a laugh. "Go for a ride!"

"Ride Dave, ride Dave, ride Dave!" the boys began to chant together, all grinning and smacking each other on the shoulders.

Kurt glanced back down at Karofsky, who winked up at him in a way that actually managed to come off as Not Creepy—of course, once again, it was hard to look too tough with your ass in the air. "C'mon, I gotta go another hundred yards before I finish my drill. Think of it as a new rodeo sport."

"What?" Kurt asked crossing his arms over his chest. "Bully riding?" The people gathered around burst into laughter again and Kurt grinned. "I really don't think I want to risk contaminating my lovely outfit with the monsoon of liquid testosterone flooding your back."

An undignified snort came from Karofsky—not that anything about him was particulary dignified. "Don't worry, I'm pretty sure all the sweat is running straight down into my butt crack, so you should be safe." He smirked, looking a little dangerous. "I pinky swear I won't buck you off. And Finn can tell you, I keep my pinky swears."

This time Kurt snorted—in a very dignified way, of course. "You are mad." He raised an eyebrow. "Do you really want the school 'homo' riding you like a pony, Karofsky? I don't think you do."

Big shoulders shrugged. "You saying queers can't be cowboys? Hey, Katie dragged me to that movie about the wild, wild wanky West, Fancy. Just mount up and you can go all Brokeback Mountain on this field." He snorted again. "C'mon, Pretty. Gotta finish these drills or Coach will kill me, and I didn't bring my weight belts. Gotta have something to balance me out when I don't got my pads on. Finn here was a big help, but he's a bit heavier than my usual load. Not to mention that, with those long ass legs of his, his heels keep getting a little close to my balls." He twisted his features into kind of a sad kissy face. "Help me, Obi Wan Kenobi—you're my only hope."

Kurt opened his mouth to refuse, then shut it again, chuckling. Hey, if Closet Case Karofsky was willing to play nice—or as nice as he got, gay movie references aside—with The Out and The Proud, then he might as well go along with it. The point of the reunion *was* to have fun, and he did not want a repeat of Breadstix. And if Karofsky regretted the hell out of it later when Kurt was out of earshot and "his boys" started making politically incorrect jokes, well, not his problem.

"Okay," he said with a laugh, bending over to poke a finger in the man's face, snickering when Karofsky crossed his eyes to look at it. "But if you *do* buck me off, cowboy, I'll show you Brokeback Mountain when I shove a goal post up your big butt."

Karofsky snorted with laughter, raising an arm up to wipe at the sweat dripping down into his eyes. "Kinky, Hummel." Kurt made a face and Karofsky flashed him another of those wicked grins that might have been scary had the situation not been so absolutely absurd.

"How do you even stay upright like that?" Kurt questioned as he awkwardly lifted a leg over the other man, a little embarrassed as the boys all cheered.

"Three hours of weight training, two hours of drills, and one hour of sprints a day," Karofsky replied. "Never say that I don't earn my keep. Now hold on, Fancy! I'm gonna give you the ride of your life."

Kurt started to glare as Puck let out a guffawing laugh, punching Artie in the shoulder, but was distracted when Karofsky lurched forward and he almost fell off, yelping loudly. "You remember what I said about bucking me off, Karofsky!" he yelled as he tipped forward, giving up completely on trying to find a hold and just leaning forward to wrap his arms around Karofsky's chest. His very wide, muscular chest. And also very sweaty chest. Kurt wrinkled his nose slightly at the smell, turning his face to the side. He hoped Mercedes was getting pictures. This would make for a great Facebook pic.

"Wrap your legs around my waist, but feel free to keep your heels away from my balls!" Karofsky called out. "Not wearing a cup this morning! Now hang onto your pretty hat, Fancy. We gonna go *fast* now!"

Kurt had thought that they were going at a pretty good pace, at least until *those* words were out of Karofsky's mouth, then they were off like a shot. Really, how did someone even move that fast in this position? Especially with another person hanging onto their back!

Kurt let out a shout as he began to tip to the side, laughing as he had to grab one of Karofsky's tree trunk arms to hold himself straight.

The other man was panting hard below him, a little sound of laughter coming through the heavy breaths every now and then. Kurt laughed loudly, then let out a shriek as Karofsky made a sort of spinning motion at the end of the field, forcing Kurt to cling to him, his much more delicate frame quite the contrast to the giant below him.

"You smell like you just walked off the set of Biggest Loser," Kurt informed him with a little giggle.

"Not. Allowed. To lose. Weight." Karofsky informed him between pants. "Just. Gain. Muscle."

Kurt pushed himself up a little, then planted his face back down against the other man's neck as he started to slip again. "How do you stand the smell?" he asked with a laugh, waving a hand at Mercedes as she raised her phone, snapping pictures.

"We just. Convince. Ourselves. That it's the smell. Of Manliness. Or some shit." They crossed over the farthest marking on the field and Karofsky came to a halt, his breath coming so hard it sounded like he was gasping.

Kurt took a deep breath as he pushed himself up, staring down at Karofsky's heaving shoulders. Really, if the man weren't absolutely soaked in sweat, from his dripping hair to his wet socks, he would look pretty hot braced there, panting hard with his ass in the hair and his head dropped so far down that it was almost brushing turf, those thick arms taut as they held up the full weight of two men.

Okay, he *did* look hot, sweat or not. He just didn't smell very good.

Really, it was too bad that Karofsky was the most homophobic homosexual he had ever met. If he hadn't been so far in the closet that he was sucking mothballs and spitting them back out in the faces of every gay guy that came along, he'd be a pretty good catch. If you didn't mind your men brainless, anyway.

Kurt mentally smacked himself, tearing his eyes away from those shoulders. Was he really contemplating *Karofsky's* level of attractiveness? He *really* needed to start dating again. The sexual frustration was obviously getting to him. Next thing he knew, he'd be admiring the way George W. Bush walked in his cowboy boots or something equally heinous.

"Okay, everybody off. Go save a horse and buy a Mustang or something—I think they've got a special going in down at Huffer's Hot Auto Lot. This cowboy needs half a gallon of Gatorade, a towel, and maybe a helmet to puke in if the Gatorade decides it don't wanna stay down. I *don't* think Coach Beiste would appreciate me soiling her field."

Kurt laughed at that, patting Karofsky's shoulder. "As long as you don't puke on me, big boy. You've soiled me enough with your sweat."

The bigger man twisted his head around, raising an eyebrow, a smirk on his face. "So you gonna dismount, Fancy, or am I really gonna have to buck you off?"

Kurt opened his mouth to tell him just where the bucking bully would be finding that goal post if he did any such thing when he was interrupted by the loud honking of a car. He jerked his face toward the parking lot, brow furrowing. Why where they honk—the thought was cut off abruptly as he recognized the figure at the wheel of the red convertible cruising into the lot. The very attractive figure. The very attractive figure who was waving a hand in his direction.

Kurt's chest tightened, a smile forming on his face as he stood abruptly, legs on either side of Karofsky's heaving, sweaty back. He swallowed hard, a hand rising to rest on his chest as the smile on his face grew wider.

Blaine. Blaine was back.

Karofsky lowered himself to his knees and crawled out from between Kurt's legs, flopping to the ground with a loud groan. He turned his head to the side, cracking his neck loudly, then looked up at Kurt with interest. "Speaking of Mustangs... Who's the rock star with the nice ride?"

Kurt blinked at him, then turned back to stare at Blaine with a smile so big that he probably looked like the doofus standing next to a guy with 'I'm With Stupid' written on his t-shirt. "Blaine," he said quietly, smile on his lips, the sound of the name making his heart leap.

"Huh?" Karofsky asked intelligently as he yanked off his t-shirt, having an epic fail moment when he tried to use the sweat soaked material to wipe off the sweat running into his eyes. Kurt couldn't help but check out that chest, love of his life or no love of his life cruising into the parking lot, and had to wonder when, exactly, Karofsky's abs had developed enough to make Mike Chang look like a poor third cousin twice removed. And it *was* a *very* nice chest, tightly defined with a light dusting of hair that ran down until it was just a thin trail running into his basketball shorts—

"KURT! Oh my God, it is so good to see you, love!"

Kurt jumped slightly, tearing his eyes away from Hercules and focusing his attention back on Blaine's lovely face as the other man slammed his car door shut, moving quickly across the parking lot toward them.

Karofsky lumbered to his feet, stumbling a little, and wrapped the sweaty shirt around his neck. "Is he a Gleek?" he asked, frowning.

Kurt didn't bother to respond, too busy grinning happily at Blaine. He was back. God, he hadn't realized how much he'd missed him. It was like the prodigal boyfriend come home.

"Blaine, I have missed you so, so much!" Kurt called out as he took off across the field toward his old boyfriend, practically jumping into the other man's wide spread arms. He pressed his body against Blaine's, basking in the feel of another person so close to him.

"Oh Kurt, beloved, it is so good to see you!" Blaine grinned at him as they pulled apart, a smile so bright that it could just about blind the sun. God, he looked so good, as stylish as ever in a tight, violet button up shirt and tailored black trousers that framed, well, *everything* so perfectly, highlighting his lean body. He had a sports jacket thrown over one arm and a pair of sunglasses were perched on the top of his head. He was a complete picture of California beauty.

Kurt's teenage dream was back in town.

"Blaine!" Mercedes called out, waving as the other man grabbed Kurt's wrist and tugged him, laughing, over to where the other Glee clubbers were gathered.

Blaine flashed her a smile. "Mercedes, you are looking absolutely stunning today, madam!"

Mercedes giggled and held a hand to her face, pretending to blush. "Aren't you just the gentleman!"

He winked at her, dark lashes fluttering. "As a lady deserves!" All the girls giggled while Puck made gagging motions with his finger, causing Finn to elbow him with a laugh.

Blaine turned his attention back to Kurt, wrapping a long arm around his shoulders. "And you… well, you look as magnificent as ever—though I do think you may have had a little spill!" He chuckled as Kurt glanced down at his silk shirt, blushing when he saw the wet line of sweat running down it.

"You can blame me for that," came Karofsky's rough voice as he walked up behind them, muscles in those big arms flexing. "I figured Fancy probably felt left out, considering that he doesn't have any sweat glands and is, therefore, the only dude in the universe who always smells like flowers." He shrugged, a half grin on his face. "And since I got plenty of sweat to share, I thought I'd perform my good deed for the year."

Blaine raised an eyebrow, cocking his head in amusement. "Well, you certainly have *plenty* to go around!" he teased, making a face as he pinched his nose, causing the girls to giggle.

"They made me do it!" Kurt said with a laugh, hiding his face with his hand, peeking through his fingers to watch Blaine's grinning face.

"Kurt's been riding studs," Puck said with a smirk. He snickered as Kurt turned to glare at him.

Blaine frowned, looking around in feigned confusion. "Studs? I'd like to see some studs… Ladies, have you seen any studs?" He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, surely you gentlemen don't mean *yourselves*!" He looked pointedly at Puck's… lower areas. "Comparing yourself to a horse… that's quite a big, well, *something* to fill."

"Oh, God, Blaine," Kurt said with a laugh, smacking him on the shoulder. "Stop it!"

Blaine raised his hands in a 'what?' motion. "I'm just saying."

Karofsky shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable as he wrapped his arms around his bare chest. "Ignore Puckerman," he muttered, an embarrassed look on his face. "He's a fuckwit. We were just doin' drills." He used a shrug of the shoulder to wipe at the sweat trickling down his face, arms still crossed tightly. They were huge enough that they actually covered a good amount of his chest. Unfortunately.

Blaine raised an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "Really?"

"Yes, really," Karofsky snapped. "Not that you'd know shit about that, Runway."

"If you're trying to insult me by implying I'm a model, David, it's really not an effective put down," Blaine replied, looking very amused. "And I'll have you know that I work out at the gym an hour every day." His lips twitched. "Of course, I don't usually carry men around on my back."

Karofsky scowled deeply. "Yeah, you probably save that for the bedroom, huh, princess?"

Mercedes made an irritated sound and Puck visibly winced. Blaine just continued to smile, however. "Ah, David. As friendly as ever, I see. It's good to see you, too."

"Don't call me David," he replied, sounding annoyed. "The only person who calls me that is my dad, and that's only when he's being an asshole. Though I guess there could be some connection there, considering your fascination with assholes."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. What the hell? He stepped forward to give one *David* Karofsky a piece of his mind, but Blaine touched his shoulder gently.

"No, no, Kurt. There's no reason to respond. You can't change the way people think by being angry at them. You just have to be the better person."

Karofsky's face twisted up at that into a furious look. "Oh, go to hell, Ghandi. I gotta take a shower." He flashed a smirk at Kurt and this time it definitely came off as Scary. "Thanks for the ride, Fancy Pants." With those words he turned on his heel and walked off toward the locker rooms, hands clenched into fists.

Blaine shook his head, raising an eyebrow as he watched Karofsky's retreating back. "He hasn't changed much, has he?" he questioned, sounding a little amused. "Is he still spending his life in Narnia, if you know what I mean?" He looked meaningfully at Kurt who chuckled, nodding.

"Oh yeah. You should see his girlfriend. Blonde. Big boobs. Lets him treat her like a savage."

"I don't think that Katie's actually his girlfriend," Artie put in rather quickly, wheeling his chair closer to them. "I mean he, uh, well, he never *said* that she was his, you know, girlfriend." He shot a look at Finn, who nodded uncomfortably.

"Yeah. I mean, he just said, you know, 'this is Katie,' or whatever."

Kurt snorted. "Well, I don't think she's his sister." He sighed, looking down at himself. Okay, it had been fun at the time, but he was now seriously regretting climbing onto that sweaty asshole's back. Hell, Blaine would probably be afraid to touch him, what with Karofsky's scent smeared all over him. "I better shower, too. I think that this shirt is a lost cause." He tugged at the back of his pants. "And considering that I can feel the sweat dripping into my underwear, I think I better overhaul the whole outfit."

"You gonna run home?" Mercedes questioned, glancing at her watch. "It's almost ten and we're still not set up."

Kurt frowned, then sighed. "No, I guess I'll just use the locker room." He shuddered slightly as images of dirty jock straps and smelly socks danced through his mind. "God help me."

"You got a change of clothes?" Finn asked. "'Cause you can borrow my hoodie if you want." He smiled down at his brother, tugging at the hem of his Ninja Turtles sweatshirt.

Kurt hid a grimace, shaking his head. "Uh, that's okay, Finn. I actually have several outfits in my classroom."

Finn frowned. "Why you got clothes in your classroom?"

"They're probably costumes, Finn," Mercedes said, patting his arm.

Kurt let out a short laugh. "I wish. I have several changes of clothing because I work with Sue Sylvester. And while students are, supposedly, not allowed to throw slushies in my face, that doesn't mean that I can do a damn thing when a Cheerio 'accidently slips' and a bunch of ice and food coloring ends up dripping down my face."

Mercedes winced. "Oooh, that sucks."

Will laughed, squeezing Kurt's shoulder. "At least your hair is relatively safe. Sue once managed to 'accidentally drop' a pint of bleach on my head."

Kurt shook his head, grinning. "Oh yeah, I remember that. She spread around the rumor that you'd hit an old lady with a litter of newborn kittens in her walker with your car and the shock had turned your hair white."

"Working with Sue could turn anyone's hair white," Will replied with a sigh and a grin.

"Or just make it fall out," Kurt agreed. "And if a single hair starts coming out prematurely… let's just say that I will be out of this school faster than you can say 'toupee.'" He smiled at Blaine. "How about you and Mercedes go and get the choir room set up." He winked at his friend. "I can trust you two, at least, to do a beautiful job. I hid the delicacies in the science lab in a sad attempt to hold off Sue's planned attacks against us. Hopefully she hasn't been able to poison them yet. I'll run to the showers and then we—" he tapped a finger on the tip of Blaine's nose, causing the other man to laugh, "—can start reminiscing."

Blaine grinned. "That sounds fabulous to me, beloved." He leaned in suddenly, dropping a light kiss on Kurt's lips. "I'll be counting the minutes 'til I see you!" He winked then and grabbed Mercedes' wrist, pulling her toward the school as she giggled, shooting a big grin at Kurt.

God, Blaine was so wondeful.

"He is so sweet," Tina said, staring a little dreamily after Blaine.

"This is SO not gonna be pretty," Puck muttered, causing Kurt to look at him strangely.

"Totally not pretty," Mike put in, shaking his head.

Artie huffed. "It's a demolition job waiting to happen, homies."

Kurt's brow wrinkled in confusion as he glanced over at the men. "What in the world are you guys babbling about?"

The boys just glanced at each other then shrugged collectively, nobody quite looking him in the eye.

Kurt glanced over at Tina, who shook her head in confusion. Finn just smiled blandly and Kurt rolled his eyes. Whatever. Let the boys have their jokes. He needed a shower.

Kurt shook his head as he started back toward the school, shooting one last suspicious glance over his shoulder at the other guys.

*Men.* Why in the world couldn't they come with a manual?


	7. Ch 7: 15 Yard Penalty

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

**CONTENT NOTE:** A very short part of this chapter (one paragraph) was deleted to maintain an R rating. It is noted in brackets. If you would like to read the full chapter, you can find it at the above addess.

**CHAPTER 7: 15 Yard Penalty**

Dave stood under the pounding rush of water, head tipped back and mouth hanging open as he chugged as much of it as he could, his body demanding something to replace all the water weight he had sweated off this morning.

Damn, his back hurt like hell. He reached around with one big palm, rubbing at it idly. Carrying a grown man around on your back was *not* like wearing a belt full of carefully distributed weights or pads designed for getting hit at thirty miles per hour by six hundreds pounds of muscle without spending your golden years pulling a Christopher Reeve. Hell, he'd put enough pressure on it just crawling around for a few minutes with Hudson on his back, but he just hadn't been able to say no when his old teammate had flashed him that big, dumb, sweet grin of his. Really, the kid was just too nice. Except for that whole thing in 5th grade about getting pubes, but he was over that by now. At least *Dave* had never ejaculated in the middle of the locker room when someone mentioned that Santana's boobs looked bigger than usual that morning. And Dave *had* been the one to sing that song, so he supposed they were even.

Lip twitching in amusement at the memory, he began to sing under his breath: "I jizz right in my pants, every time you're next to me. And when we're holdin' hands, it's like having sex to me. You call me premature, I just call it ecstasy. I wear a rubber at all times, it's a necessity. Because I JIZZ in my pants!" [link to Finn's theme song]

Yeah, they were totally even.

But what the *hell* had he been *thinking,* asking Kurt Hummel if he wanted to ride around on his goddamn back? Of course, he hadn't expected the little princess to accept. And once he'd had him perched on his back, with those firm thighs wrapped around his waist and delicate arms circling his chest, of course he'd had to crawl as fast and as far as he could—on just his fingers and toes, no less, as he followed Coach's eternal wisdom of 'Boys on their knees get fucked—and no one's fucking with my team!"

The gods of testosterone had cheered.

He was totally losing his mind. Had he *really* been trying to *impress* Hummel? With *what*? That he could sweat like a horse and had an ass so fat you could ride it like a bull?

Not that he minded having Kurt on his back. Just the memory of that body, clinging to him, chest pressed hard to his spine, face brushing the back of his neck, was making certain areas harden in a way that had nothing to do with muscle and everything to do with the image of Kurt's pretty face that was dancing through his mind. Dave winced slightly and grabbed at himself, palming his dick roughly. This was so not the time for this. He hadn't jerked off in a goddamn locker room since junior high school when Azimio had shown him the fight scene between Ed Norton and Brad Pitt in 'Fight Club' on his phone, leaving him excited and embarrassed-but not embarrassed enough to keep him from sprinting to the locker room the moment the coast was clear and letting his hormones rule.

Dave had a pretty big dick for his big hand, which was lucky considering that it would probably get lost in his palm if he didn't. Though being pretty proportionate to the size of his big butt definitely made him glad to be a homo, 'cause the first time Katie had walked in on him naked she had choked on the health shake she was drinking, stared for about thirty seconds as he stood there, blushing, and then informed him very primly that she wouldn't let that thing near her with a ten foot pole. Especially since it looked like a ten foot pole.

Apparently women had this strange idea that talent in bed took priority over size. Luckily men didn't seem to share this same quirk, especially since Dave didn't know if he was exactly talented in bed. Capable of humping like a mad man, yes. Talented? What the hell was bed talent anyway? Could you, like, go on America's Got Talent and try to win the judges' approval by doing handstands while you sucked dick or something?

Women. Can't live with 'em, can't figure out how to use the timer on the microwave without them.

[EDITED FOR RATING]

Damn, damn, damn. Why the hell was he doing this to himself? He needed to let it the fuck go. Imagining Kurt in the shower with him was not going to get him anywhere. Well, not anywhere happy.

He worked the bar like he'd worked his damn dick, hard and fast, a big scowl on his face as he ran the suds over himself. He might be a big, smelly jock, but he could at least try and smell relatively human for this stupid reunion. Besides, he didn't doubt for a second that, if she didn't like the way he smelled, Coach Beiste be perfectly willing to shove some soap up there where the sun don't shine. Probably as willing as a three headed moose's baloney sandwich or something like that. And as masculine as she might be, she was not the sort that he wanted shoving *anything* up there. Hell, she'd tried to shove a cleat up his butt once in high school after he'd hid wheelchair boy's shoulder pads and filled his locker with maxi-pads instead.

…and it also wouldn't hurt to prove to Kurt that he could, at times, smell like something other than sweat, beer, and chili dogs.

Dave gritted his teeth and ran the bar soap through his short hair. No, no, *no.* He needed to stop thinking along those lines once and for all, dammit! If he'd ever had a glimmer of hope that he might have a chance at winning Fancy's dick, or heart, or whatever it was that you were supposed to win, well, that had been slapped down real fast when Pretty Boy Floyd had pulled his snazzy convertible into the parking lot, with three hundred dollar Oakley's on his head and a suave little outfit that was definitely not Made In China—unless it was some super expensive hand woven Chinese silk made from the poop of purple caterpillars or something like that.

Seriously, how could he have *ever* imagined that he might be in Hummel's league? Nothing had changed since that day in high school when Kurt had shoved him away, a look on his face that practically screamed 'I just vomited in my mouth.' Okay, yeah, Dave was in a whole new tax bracket now, considering that he made almost two million a year *before* endorsments and shit. But he still drove the ten year old pickup that his parents had bought him for his sixteenth birthday, got his boxers at WalMart, and mowed his own damn lawn. The honest truth? He was a commoner at heart, not like those little princesses. And even if he *did* start flying to New York to buy three thousand dollar loafers and eating foods he couldn't pronounce and driving a freaking Lamborghini, he *still* wouldn't stand a chance if that Blaine dude was the sort of guy Kurt went in for.

Dave had never tried to kid himself about his looks. He was a big boy. Not really fat, though he'd been kinda fat as a kid, before he'd started playing hockey and football. And he'd always had some chubby over his muscle, especially in the face, at least until he'd taken on a profession that required him to work out six hours a day. But he was still goddamn big, with a nine dollar hair cut and enough body hair that Katie constantly bemoaned the fact that he refused to rip it off his flesh at high speeds—not to mention that he would shave his balls the day little miss cheerleader let her armpit hair grow out and stopped plucking her eyebrows.

At least in high school he'd still been around the same height as the other dudes in school, even if he was so wide that they called him Big D and cried like wittle babies when he tackled 'em—really, those losers needed to learn to grin and snap that dislocated shoulder back into place. Now the only people that he *didn't* tower over were other lineman, and the one time that he'd needed a suit he'd had to go to Big & Tall—and they'd *still* had to tailor the shoulders to fit him.

He'd packed on the muscle in college, but he was far from pretty. More of the stout and square type. If Kurt was, like, a Porsche or a Ferrari or something, Dave was a Hummer or a Range Rover or maybe a diesel pickup. The lady fans in the stands liked him alright, but he had no misconceptions about where he stood compared to, say, Miles Austin. 'Marry Me Miles' was a running joke with the team because so many ladies wrote it on their tight little t-shirts at games, all loving that lean, mean wide receiving machine. Hell, Austin didn't win the text message vote for Favorite Cowboy every home game just out of luck—*or* because of what an exceptional player he was.

Dave… Dave was big and tough and strong and attractive in sort of a gladiator, gonna beat you with my big fists kind of way, he guessed. But he definitely wasn't pretty and he thought 'handsome' was cutting it a little close, personally. He could dress like that Blaine kid and act all cool and suave—oh, hell, he could *try* to act all cool and suave—but he would still be chubby and sweaty, and they'd still call him Goliath and Sasquatch and Tarzan and King Kong. And, of course, hamhock. A smile tugged at his lips. Oh, Kurt.

But those kind of names were just the curse of the football player, he guessed. Demolition Dave and Marion the Barbarian and Ed "Too Tall" Jones and Iron Head Hayward… of course, there had also been Joe "Broadway" Namath, but that was just the sort of nick name you got when you wore floor length fur coats on the sidelines.

Lost in his thoughts, Dave started slightly when he heard the shower turn on in the stall next to him. He glanced over then looked away quickly, blushing as he caught sight of Kurt's head.

Wonderful. Just fucking wonderful.

"Girl's locker room is next door," he said in a low voice, unable to stop himself, and was rewarded with a derisive—and slightly amused?—snort from Kurt's general direction.

"Ha ha. Very funny, hamhock."

Yup. *There* it was.

Dave chuckled, staring studiously at the tile floor as the water continued to pound his back. "I thought so. The height of my wit, really." Kurt laughed lightly and Dave smiled.

"I'd have used the girls' locker room if Sue hadn't changed the damn locks so that only Cheerios would have access," Kurt said after a moment. "Less chance of acquiring an STD from a towel."

Dave laughed. "Yeah, I bet the ladies' room smells better, too."

"Yes, that would be because they actually wash the sweat from their flesh immediately rather than allowing it to stagnate for at least eight hours and *then* trying to remove the petrified stench from their bodies."

Dave glanced over, eyebrow raised in amusement, then looked away quickly as he caught Kurt's gaze. "Did my rush of man-sweat actually manage to take down your rose-scented moisturizer?"

A sigh came from the other stall. "It was close, but alas, yes. Your man-stench prevailed, conquering my top of the line beauty products. I'm fairly certain the animal tests were done on cute, fluffy bunnies and not hogs, so they couldn't have realized what they'd be up against." He laughed again. "Hey, aren't we breaking the not-really-a-secret-but-I-still-don't-understand-it locker room Guy Code that Finn was always babbling about, you know, by talking in the shower?"

Dave grunted, shaking his head in amusement. "Well, we know you're just in here trying to get a look at my junk, so what does it matter anyway? It's only a matter of time before you molest me and try to convert me to the gay side of the Force."

Kurt laughed in response. "You know, you're actually kind of amusing when you're not being a piggish asswipe or aiming The Fury at me."

"The Fury?" Dave questioned, brow wrinkling slightly.

"Karofsky!" Kurt said in a slightly shocked tone. "Are you telling me that you would scold your girlfriend for forgetting the names of her breasts when you, yourself, have forgotten the name of your fist?"

Dave let out a short laugh. "Oh yeah, that's right. The Fist of Fury. I'd been watching *way* too many Bruce Lee flicks. But don't worry, I renamed it The Fuck in college."

A choking sound came from the other stall and Dave grinned. "The WHAT?"

"The Fuck. Like, this is my fist, The Fuck. And my fist will fuck you if you mess with me. Or just if you're kinky that way," he added as an afterthought, smirking.

Dave was rewarded with a burst of laughter and he couldn't help but sneak a glance over, his breath catching slightly as he watched the hot water running down those slim shoulders, steam rising off of soft looking pink skin, a delicate spine tracing down to his firm, round—okay line of thought, ending there. Checking out Kurt in the shower like some middle age freak in the bathroom of a low-class gay bar, totally not cool. Hudson would probably kill him. Or try, anyway. Dave was pretty sure he could just break the other man's arms, But that really wasn't fair, considering that, if his mind continued to create home movies of just what he would like to do to that little butt, then Kurt probably deserved some protecting.

"You got a tramp stamp?" The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, a testament to the fact that he was thinking entirely with his cock at the moment, and he winced, face flushing red. Oh yeah, the guy code had just been broken. Stomped on, tackled, sacked, beaten into the ground, transported in an ambulance to the local hospital, hooked up to life support, and flat lined, in fact.

At least with all the blood flowing to his cheeks it would help limit the blood flow to his dick. His staying power had been transported back to teenage days, but it seemed that his ability to get it up again in less time than it takes to change your underpants had been revived as well. Of course, between his cheeks and his cock there might not be any blood left for his brain. Not that his brain seemed to function anytime one Kurt Hummel was around anyway.

Kurt glanced over pointedly, a hand on one cute little hip. "Uh, and you're looking, why, exactly?" He shot him a disapproving look and Dave ducked his head, embarrassed, then grabbed the soap and began to wash his hair again. For the third time. Not that he was extending his time in the shower or anything.

"I'm not looking," he muttered, eyes now locked on the floor. Where they would remain. Even if it killed him.

Kurt snorted delicately. "I am sorry, Karofsky, but you are such a huge freaking closet case that it's like I'm standing at the foot of Mount Pitiful."

"I'm not in the closet," he mumbled.

"Ha. Okay, you just look at other men in the showers to prove your masculinity. Sort of a 'pull it out and compare' thing, only with voyeuristic intentions. What does your little girlfriend think about these rendezvous, huh?" He chuckled. "Oh, wait, let me guess—she doesn't know! Lions and tiger and queers, oh my!" The sarcasm was practically dripping from the words and Dave blushed, glaring over, then forcing his eyes back down again.

"Of course she knows, Hummel," he snapped, a little annoyed. "And she's just my girl friend, not my girlfriend."

"Oh, okay," Kurt said sarcastically. "She's your girlfriend, not your girlfriend. Well, that clears *that* right up."

Dave scowled. "Hey, I'm not in the damn closet, man, okay? Just because I don't wear rainbow scarves and lipgloss doesn't mean I don't like dudes. It just means I'm not a flamer like you, alright? Not everyone likes to spend their days dancing in clouds of cotton candy with the word 'HOMO' written in sparkly letters on their goddamn dick!" The moment the words were out, he winced. Once again, open mouth, insert foot.

Kurt looked over sharply and Dave glanced away again. Right. Eyes on the floor.

"Oh, are we admitting what we *are* now—to the 'flamer' nonetheless?" He turned to face Dave, reaching over the stall separator and snapping fingers in his face. "Heads up, homo."

Dave glanced up, eyes widening as the smaller man smirked then looked down, grabbing his cock and tugging at it, pretending to inspect it with a studious look on his face. Dave flushed deeply and jerked his gaze away. Just keep blushing. Blushing was good. Blood in the face and not in the dick. Oh, screw it. The blood was already in his damn dick.

It was times like these that Dave really wished one could have selective erectile dysfunction.

"Oh look!" Kurt cried out in a shocked voice. "There is absolutely nothing written on my penis! Can you believe it? Imagine that!"

Dave glanced up, wincing at the annoyed look on Kurt's face. Really, why couldn't he keep his big, goddamn mouth shut? If Hudson needed to wear a rubber at all times, Dave needed to wear a goddamn gag. Or just carry a bag of donuts wherever he went and shove three in his mouth every time he got an urge to speak around Kurt Hummel.

"Aw, Karofsky, I'm sooo happy for you, all out and proud! Oh wait, not proud, just kind of out. Except that he doesn't tell anybody and shows up at his high school reunion with a hot babe who actually manages to have breasts larger than his own man-boobs and lots of big, manly stories with which to regale all his, ah, how do you say it? His 'boys'? And *then* he's checking out the screaming queen in the shower—"

"Fuck you," Dave snapped. "I wasn't checking you out, okay? I was just… just… just fuck you!" He winced. Wow, *that* was smooth. Good job, Dave.

Kurt laughed harshly then turned around—thank God—to adjust the shower head. "Really," he said coldly, "what *happened* to karma? How did an ignorant troglodyte like you end up rich and famous, with everything you ever wanted at your bullying little fingertips?"

Dave glared at the other man, who was now pouring some kind of pink, soapy crap down his back. His very attractive back. "Oh, I think fate punched me in the face pretty good," he replied. "Hell, I think Lady Karma took *me* to the fucking cleaners!" His voice came out a little louder than he meant it to and he clenched his fists, taking a deep breath.

"Oh yeah," Kurt said sarcastically. "Because the whole lifestyle of the rich and the famous sports star is just so *terrible.*"

Dave gave a short laugh as he reached out and turned off the shower head, grabbing a towel and running it roughly through his hair. "You don't get it! You didn't get it then and you don't get it now?" He shook his head, jaw tight. "How *could* you get it? You had is so freaking easy, Hummel."

Kurt turned to face him again, his eyes flashing as he crossed his arms over his chest, apparently totally unconcerned that he was butt naked.

Dave's face grew hotter and he turned away, quickly grabbing another towel to wrap around his waist. It didn't hide much, considering how big his ass—and other, perkier parts—were, but it was better than nothing.

"Easy? I had it so *easy*? You tormented me, Karofsky! You made my life *miserable*! I went through every day terrified that you were going to snap! You *drove* me from my school, my friends, my family! And when I came back, you just tormented me some more!" He brandished his little pink soap bottle like it was a sword. "I'm sorry that you couldn't accept what you were, Karofsky, I really am. But you had no right to take it out on me! And to think that you have the nerve to say I had it *easy*?" He looked down at the bottle in his hand and Dave's eyes widened at the evil sort of look that crossed over his face. "Had it so EASY, huh?" Without warning he raised the bottle and squeezed it hard, sending an arc of soap in Dave's direction.

The bigger man cursed as it hit him right in the face. "Dammit, Hummel! You threw SOAP in my eyes!"

Kurt flung the bottle down into the floor with a bang, looking rather satisfied. "Teach you to look at other boys in the shower, huh, Karofsky?" He sneered. "I was the only openly gay kid in out entire school! You think that coming out was *fun* for me, big boy?"

Dave finished wiping the soap from his face, blinking rapidly he tried to glare at Kurt through the stinging. And the thick flower smell. "I think that you were always out, Hummel," he said coldly. He gave a bitter laugh. "When you 'came out of the closet'? Dude, it was a joke! We all *knew* you were a fag! It would have been the shock of the millenium if you had been *straight*! The people you hung out with? They already *knew* what you were. They could have told *you*! Because you fit the mold so damn perfectly it makes my head hurt!" He thew up his hands. "Hell, I bet your dad even knew what you were. I mean, come *on*, man—you held tea parties in the lunchroom! You wore corsets to class! You crossed your legs like a sissy little bitch and flapped your wrists around when you talked and said 'ohmygodohmygodohmygod' like it was one damn word." He flung out an arm, letting his hand hang limply from it, causing Kurt to scowl. "No one was going to reject you, because anybody who had a problem with faggots avoided you from the start. There was no danger." He shook his head, lip curling in disgust. "Me? No one looked at me and thought 'homo.' Big Dave, tough it out, son. Be a man. Knock 'em down. Take 'em out. All of my friends? They talked about being queer like it was herpes or something." He gave a choked laugh. "Hell, sometimes I thought that I *had* caught it from you somehow!"

Kurt reached out, turning off his own shower, and grabbed a towel. "Oh, poor baby! It wasn't that easy for me, Karofsky! Maybe you looked at me and knew, maybe all my friends did too—but I didn't know that! I didn't understand what I was feeling any more than you did! At least people considered you normal, instead of one of the 'freak hive'!"

Dave smacked a hand down on the wall, frustrated. "I thought that they would *hate* me, Kurt. *All* of them! From the things they said and the way they acted around you? I honestly believed with all my goddamn heart that the guys I cared about the most would shove me in a trunk, drive me out to a field somewhere, and tie my fat ass to a fence like an oversized version of Matthew Shepherd!"

Kurt sucked in a sharp breath. There was a long moment of silence as he studied Dave, then he spoke, voice soft but steady. "If you really believed they would do that, then they weren't really your friends."

Dave laughed harshly. "You don't get it. They WERE my friends, Hummel! Since we could first crawl around on the floor pretending to be X-Men or whatever. But if you had asked any one of them if they thought, for an instant, that I was a homo? They'd have laughed out loud and warned you that my fist was probably going to make sweet love to your face for saying that." He sighed, suddenly feeling deflated. This was pointless. It really was like talking Martian to a tourist from Venus. Screw it. "You're right. I'm a big fucking asshole. Always have been, always will be. But you know what, Hummel?" he said flatly. "You can quit whining about karma. You can be happy, 'cause karma is a *bitch.*" He raised his eyes to meet the other man's, a tired look on his face. "Yeah, I play pro ball. And that was totally what I dreamed of as a kid. I can't imagine anything I'd want to do more, despite all the broken bones and bloody noses. I've been on ESPN, in Sports Illustrated—hell, I was nominated for a fucking Heisman in college, and that's pretty good for someone who's not a quarterback. I've been in Nike ads and had my face stuck on sports drinks. I'm 'Demolition Dave' and I pound 'em to pieces. Big and bad and dumb as hell, a modern day gladiator, yeah? So I should be thrilled, right?"

"I don't see why not," Kurt said shortly. "You just said you were living your dream."

Dave smiled sadly again, knowing that it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, only in my dream I'd marry a girl like Katie and have cute babies and borrow Azimio's 'I'm a Daddy!' t-shirts. My parents would be Mamaw and Papaw and I'd be happy and loved and never alone. But I can't *have* that. Because I'm gay. And boy did I try to change that. Tried so damn hard. You don't even want to *know* how far I had to go before I admitted to myself what I was. And truthfully? I know you think he's just an asshat—hell, most of the time, he is—but Az was the only thing that kept me sane. Because he was my best bud in the world, since we were little kids learning to shoot hoops together. But if you had asked me in high school the person I thought would be leading the *pack* to tie me to that fence? I would have said Azimio. But I just proved what a dumbass I was, because he turned out to be the best friend you could imagine. He was exactly what I needed—someone to take it in a stride, shrug it off, and not let it change what we had a bit. I didn't want to talk about it or join pride parades or go to a support group. I just wanted to watch Sunday night football and put the geeky kids in Dumpsters and knock down guys on the field so hard that they pissed their pants the next time they saw me. And, yeah, I had a crush on Vince Young when Az was into Paris Hilton. But other than that, life was the same. But I had to change my dream. I couldn't avoid *that.* Because I still wanted to play ball, but I also wanted to find somebody to love, y'know?" He chuckled. "Someone with a lot less upstairs and a lot more downstairs that Katie-pie. So, no, I didn't end up living the dream I really wanted. You can be happy about that." He looked away and Kurt sighed.

"Look," Kurt said, sounding a little frustrated, "that's really sad and all, Karofsky. But to be honest, we all go through that. Nobody just embraces it instantly—not even a diva like me. It's not bad karma that you don't like girls, okay? It's just something you have to be strong enough to embrace. It's a struggle, but you can overcome it. I did."

Dave palmed his face, letting out a bitter laugh. "No, see Kurt, you *still* don't get it. My dream *changed* when I realized what I was. And *that* was when karma slapped me in the face. Not because I was gay, but because my dream? It was really two dreams, man. Two incompatible dreams. Like oil and water. You can have one or the other, but you can't have both at the same time." He snorted. "You think I can just go out and find a man? Please," he scoffed, "my sponsors would have a *fit.* And you want to know something *really* ironic? I said I wanted to marry a chick like Katie? Well, I *did* marry a chick like Katie. Actually, I just flat out married Katie!" He let out a harsh laugh. "She's not my girlfriend, she's my damn wife. And you know *why*?" He smiled bitterly. "Because the goddamn corporate sponsors at Nike called me into their office like a kid at the principal's and told me that they didn't like these rumors dancing around that I was a faggot, and that if I appreciated their endorsements then I needed to do something about it."

Kurt's eyes widened, his face taking on an offended look. "They actually *said* that?"

Dave waved a hand in the air. "Oh, it was much more politically correct. Had the Attorney of Law stamp of approval. Hell, it was so damn fancied up that my lawyer had to explain to me what they were saying. Basically, rumors were flying and they didn't like it. I mean, my team knows I'm queer, and probably half of the damn NFL, but there's never been any official statement or confirmation. Just rumors." He shook his head. "But then there were rumors that Troy Aikman was a fag just because he didn't date much, and now he's married happily ever after. Rumors are fine as long as they can be talked around—at least until you retire. Fags have played ball before, but there's never been an openly gay player in the NFL. They all stayed deep in the closet until after retirement. So what did Nike want me to do?" He scratched at the back of his head. "It almost makes me want to laugh… just… the *nerve* of it, ya know? They wanted me to get *married.* Like it was just, y'know, part of the job. 'Okay, kiddo. Gotta play ball and get hitched." He snorted. "Pretty ballsy of them, huh?"

Kurt shook his head in disbelief. "They really told you to get *married*?"

Dave shrugged. "Without directly saying anything out of line—at least in a legal sense—of course. I guess their reasoning was, well, if the rumors get thick, we can just wave this certificate in the air and say, 'Oh, look, he can't be queer! He's married!'" He made a rude noise. "So what do I do? Do I say 'Fuck you, you small minded assholes, who the fuck do you think you are? My life is not for you to dictate, you assipes, so take your damn Swoosh and fuck yourself up the butt with it?'" He laughed tiredly. "Nah, that's what someone brave, like you, would do. But I'm sitting there with Jerry Jones staring me down like, 'you better not fuck this up, son.' So my coward ass just smiled and nodded and, the next thing I know, my best bud from college and I are standing at an altar in Vegas and suddenly I'm married to a busty, blonde cheerleader. Just like a jock should be." He let out a loud laugh, rubbing tiredly at his forehead. "And so I go to bed alone every fucking night because I got my dream to be a pro ball player. And football players don't suck cock."

Kurt shook his head, looking a little shocked. "Dear God… I just don't see why being gay is such a problem. I mean, there is tons of homophobia in the world, but it really is getting better. People are becoming more open minded every day."

Dave smiled tiredly and pushed past Kurt, heading over to where he'd dumped his duffle bag, shuffling through it for some relatively clean clothes. "Don't you see yet, man? They're more open minded about pretty dudes like you. 'Cause when you get down to it, you're pretty much the essence of what everybody thinks gays are. You're all girly, and that's what people expect gays to be. Princesses and divas. Like Ru Paul or Elton John or some shit. Hell, Az has known about me since senior year and is as cool about it as any red blooded, American male could ever be. But it still doesn't always *compute.*" He turned his back on Kurt as he dropped his towel, yanking on a pair of Dallas Stars boxers with hockey sticks crossing over the crotch. "There are always just some things that will come down to him wincing and going 'whoa, man I didn't wanna know that.'"

"What do you mean, it doesn't compute?" Kurt questioned, sounding confused. "You're gay. Is it *really* that complicated of a concept." Dave smiled at the disbelief in Kurt's voice as he yanked on a pair of jeans. Fancy had no idea how damn complicated it could be.

"Do you like to suck dick?" he asked as he turned around, laughing at the way Kurt's eyes widened. He held up his hands, smirking. "No, it's cool, you don't gotta answer that. But I do. I like to suck dick. Like to take it up the ass, too. Bottom, top, whatever, I'm cool. I just say that bottoming is more pleasure for less work." He smiled in amusement at the look on Kurt's face. "Too much information? Yeah, my boy Az thinks so too. I mean, we can *joke* about it and shit. But if it comes down to me actually enjoying getting fucked up the butt? Not cool.

"Now, he's got no problemo with the idea of me nailing some pretty young thing or getting my dick sucked at a gay club by some dude who wears Lip Smackers. But if I say that I'd really like to suck some cock? *Way* not cool. 'Cause I'm a big badass. I'm a *man* and *men* don't suck dick. Pretty fags, yeah, okay. They're kinda like chicks, y'know? But an NFL lineman does not take it up the ass. No valid reason. It's just not what they *do*. It's not *manly.*" He shrugged. "Hell, I totally get it. It's ingrained. I was, like, two years old the first time my dad told me to stop crying just because my knee was bleeding all over the place and 'take it like a man.' Maybe your dad was… cooler about stuff like that. But most of us were raised to be 'men,' and men don't cry or care or do anything that someone might think is weak or girly. In fact, we should be as aggressive as hell 'cause that's what it means to be a man. So the idea of me, big boy, badass jock doing something like sucking cock? It don't compute. 'Suck my cock' is what you tell other dudes when they're messing with you. It's an insult, a way of saying what a sissy you are." He shrugged. "And I understand. So I just don't talk about it with my boys. It's like there's Dave and then there's Homo Dave, because my friends will never get that I'm both. Because you can't be a badass and a cock sucker. They're two different molds."

"Maybe you need to think about getting some friends who, you know, understand better. Hang out with gay guys?" Kurt suggested, actually looking kind of troubled.

Dave snorted. "Yeah, and then it's Dave and Dude Dave. Just another kind of two faced existence. I used to wish desperately that I wasn't a homo. But I feel so damn alone these days that sometimes, honest to God, I wish that when I walk in my house I'll see, like, a painting of a bunch of roses or some shit, not a deer head hangin' on my wall. Or that when I open my closet there'll be racks of cool looking clothes that I'll be able to put together in a snazzy way like you, instead of six pairs of jeans, some t-shirts that came in an eight-pack, and a bunch of sports jerseys. Or that when I flip on the TV, I'll wanna skip right on by ESPN and flick on over to the Home and Garden channel or whatever the fuck gay guys are supposed to watch. I mean, if I can't be the real man that they want me to be, can't I at least be a queen or some shit? Fit in with the stereotype? Wanna wax off my chest hair and worry about what I smell like? Maybe march in some pride parades? But no. Purple ain't my color, and I still go to Supercuts, and nothing makes me happier than winning a game of pool. And I know damn well how other guys look at me when I go to clubs. I know damn well what they see. What *you* see. I'm big and clumsy and dumb. I look like I just rolled outta bed and smell like I haven't showered in a week."

He pulled on a blue polo shirt, tugging it down with a sigh. "Nobody wants to be with the lumbering giant whose idea of a good time is drinking cheap beer, eating junk food, and talking about which Decepticon in Transformers is his favorite. Not when you got guys that dress like they just stepped out of a fashion show. So you know what, Fancy? Don't feel so damn bitter. If you wanted karma to kick Dave Karofsky in the balls… well, you can be happy, Hummel. *You* can be happy, because *I'm* not. He grabbed his duffle bag and tossed it over one tense shoulder, heading for the door, head down as he refused to meet Kurt's eyes. "I'll see you in the choir room, man."

"Dave… Dave, wait!" Kurt called, but he was already out the door and heading down the hall. And if a single tear trickled down his cheek, well, he wiped it off pretty damn fast.

Because real men don't cry.


	8. Ch 8: Personal Foul

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

**Ch. 8: Personal Foul**

The choir room was divided.

On one side the Gleeks were gathered in a sort of pow-wow around the piano, or at least those of the Gleeks that had never borne the load of a number on their chest and their names written on their jockstraps. On the other side the football team was lounging in a scattered collection of plastic chairs, arguing loudly about something involving the velocity of a spitball shot from a straw versus those ejected from the shaft of a disassembled pen.

Kurt grimaced slightly as he scanned the men. Apparently diets made entirely of pizza, chili dogs, and beer had not been kind to many of the jocks. While Puck and Sam could still claim that they looked like they'd been carved from Michelangelo's naughtiest fantasies, most of the guys were starting to look a little saggy around the belly. Kind of like they were pregnant by way of beer. Mike once again looked like he had stepped out of a Men in Black movie, minus the cool factor, and that enormous boy who had played left tackle and liked to throw orange slushies was still huge-but, unfortunately for him, not in a Dave Karofsky kind of way. He was sitting in two chairs at once and his face looked like what happened when Tweedle Dum bred with Tweedle Dee. It also didn't help that he was totally bald. Finn was looking as lovely as ever, asleep on the floor with drool running down his face and Artie was impressing his fellow teammates with stories of selling used vacuum cleaners and church organs on eBay while Matt Rutherford from sophomore year tried to toss pennies into Puck's open mouth. He frowned. Masculine foolery abounded, so where was—

"Kurt, lovely! I see you have been returned to your fullest beauty once more!" Kurt laughed as Blaine suddenly jumped him from behind, wrapping his arms tightly around him as he hugged him, nuzzling his neck. "I was beginning to think that you got lost."

"Trust me," Kurt said with a fond smile. "I can always find my way to the choir room. I just follow the scent of sheet music." He scanned the room again, biting his lip. "Hey, have you seen Karofsky?"

Blaine pulled back slightly, a little dimple appearing between his brows as he frowned. "What's that, lovely?"

"Karofsky," Kurt said, a little distractedly. "Have you seen him?" Surely he hadn't left. Of course, being a big jock, it wouldn't be surprising if he bolted after a heart felt conversation like they had just had. He was pretty sure Dave had said more to him in that fifteen minutes than he had the entire time they were at school together. Kurt had never expected that he was so… deep. But then why wouldn't he be? He *was* a human being. Honestly, it had just been easier to see him as a one-dimensional bully. Not that he had ever done much to alter that image.

It was interesting, though, how the other man felt. Kurt had always had a hard time getting people to accept him because he was *different*. The how and why wasn't so important. You could just look at him and he stood out. He had never considered that it would be hard to get people to accept you when you *act* the same, but are really different inside. It was… strange that talking to Dave Karofsky, of all people, could give him more insight on being gay. After all, how did you get gayer than Kurt Hummel? He almost chuckled at that.

Blaine broke him out of his thoughts, squeezing him on the shoulder. "No, I guess he's still in the shower."

Mercedes moved over toward them, smiling. "He probably just got lost trying to find his way from the locker room. I know Finn had a hard time following Coach Beiste's arrows. He ended up in the art closet."

Kurt shook his head. No, Karofsky was definitely not in the shower anymore. The image of that big, muscular man with water dripping down those broad shoulders flashed through his mind and he winced slightly, shaking it away. So not the time for naked man thoughts. "No, I was just there—"

A loud wail came from down the hall and Kurt jumped, startled. Loud noises were never good. They usually meant that either Sue had pushed another faculty member down the stairs or Figgins had walked in on the French teacher masturbating in his office.

"What in the name of Flipper's fins was that?" Beiste asked, turning around and frowning deeply. "I wonder if the janitor found another poop present. He should really know by now not to open those boxes.

Kurt shook his head, moving toward the door. "I don't know. I'll go see. You guys stay here and guard the food. This may very well be a distraction. We don't want to let down out guard. You know Sue likes to live every day like she's caught up in a vicious round of capture the flag."

Will scowled, shaking his head. "I swear, if she put any more dying mammals in my classroom…"

Kurt waved a hand. "If she did I'll just call the exterminator. He took care of those hamsters." He stepped out into the hall, with a sigh, looking back and forth. He didn't see anyone, or any dying mammmals. Of course, that didn't mean that Sue couldn't have stuck a raccoon or two in a locker.

"NO! NO, PLEASE! You can't do this!" There was a loud banging sound. Oh, for God's sake, if another kid had been left in a locker overnight, Kurt was going to contact the damn school board. Forget zero tolerance, this school just needed to try and meet the terms of the Geneva Code.

"We can do whatever the hell we want, ass wipe!" Whoa, okay, definitely not a kid in a locker. Kurt knew that voice. He remembered it well, and it had an edge of fury to it that made Kurt's stomach twist. It looked like he had found Dave.

"Day-am straight! Who you think you be messin' with, gossip girl?" And Azimio, too. Fabulous. Two assholes for the price of one.

Kurt shoved aside the urge to flee the scene and risk no slushie facial and/or severe bodily harm. Dave wouldn't hurt him. He was sure of that. And he wouldn't let Azimio hurt him. Probably. Maybe. Hopefully.

He shook his head and took off in the general direction of the sound of shrieking, peeking into classrooms as he passed. Okay, where had the bullies set up shop?

"SOMEONE SAVE ME! RAPE! I CALL RAPE!"

Ah. Boy's bathroom. He should have known. He shoved open the door, scowling at the scene before him.

Azimio was leaning up against an open stall, laughing his ass off as he stared in at Dave, who was on his knees in front of the toilet, holding a very fluffy looking head over the bowl.

"That's right, curly," Azimio said with a wicked looking grin. "We gonna teach you what happens when you mess with da A and da K!"

"Hell yeah," came Dave's voice from inside the stall. "I suggest you take that shit off the damn internet or I swear to God that I'll let the Az man over there piss in this toilet before I shove your head into it!"

"I am protected by the laws of freedom of press!"

"What the HELL is going on here?" Kurt snapped, anger flowing through his veins as memories of hundreds of swirlies flashed before his eyes. "What are you Neanderthals doing?"

"We're teaching this fool what happens when you mouth off about things that are none o' your goddamn biz-i-NESS, that's what we be doing," Azimio replied, flashing a toothy grin that looked almost animalistic.

Kurt shook his head in disbelief. "How old are you two? Ten? Did you halt all mental development the day you hit puberty? Who *is* that?"

Dave yanked back the head he was holding with a grunt, revealing the face of one very frightened looking Jacob Ben Israel. "Look what *I* found lurking in the hallway!" He scowled deeply, shaking the other man a little. Kurt winced. If there was one thing Dave was good at, it was looking scary. "Who the hell do you think you are, boy?"

Jacob sniffed arrogantly-a pretty impressive feat considering he was being shaken by a three hundred pound giant. "I think that I am the number one source of celebrity media in the nation since last year when my blog surpassed Perez Hilton's in number of hits per hour!"

"And I think you're a fuckwit," Azimio replied dryly.

Kurt scowled deeply, shoving past the big black man to glare at Dave. "What the hell are you doing, Karofsky? Shoving people's heads in toilets? You know, I cannot understand you! One second you seem almost reasonable, the next you're acting like a fool! Just because you're big and famous doesn't mean you can go around doing whatever you want!" He shot him a furious look. "I swear, every time I start to think that maybe you're not such a bad guy, you manage to prove me wrong. In spades!"

"Oooh," Azimio said, wincing. "Snap."

Kurt almost felt guilty as hurt flashed across Dave's face, before it was quickly replaced by anger. "You might want to take a look at the crime before you start bitching, Hummel! Pubic Hair Head here has been busy typing away and, once you see the damage, you might just reconsider just what kind of punishment is due!"

Kurt stuck his nose in the air, crossing his arms over his chest in annoyance. "There is absolutely *nothing* a person could do that would make me lower myself to shoving his head into a toilet, you ignorant caveman!"

"Oh yeah?" Dave shot back, eyes narrowing. "You want to make a *bet* on that, Hummel?"

Kurt looked at him with disbelief. "What?"

"I said, you wanna make a *bet* on that, pretty boy? Put your money where your mouth is? Because I think you very well might just lower yourself to such acts of Neaderthalism once you read what this asshole has been posting." The look on his face was so blatantly arrogant that it made Kurt want to slap him.

"You know what, Karofsky?" he shot back, voice furious. "I'll take that bet! And when I win—which I *will*-*you* have to do something for me!" Like keep his rude, crude mouth shut for the rest of this damn reunion so that Kurt could actually enjoy himself.

Dave laughed harshly, glancing over at Azimio. "Az, show him the blog." He looked back over at Kurt. "But when *I* win—which I *will*-you have to do something for *me*!"

"Kinky," Azimio murmered, wincing as both men shot him angry glares. "Kiddin'. Yo, just kiddin."

"Fine," Kurt snapped, turning his attention back to Dave. "I'll take that bet. You know why? Because *I* am a gentleman! And gentleman don't stuff people's heads into toilets!"

"I thought you were a lady," Azimio said sweetly, smirking at the look Kurt gave him. "Once again, I just be kiddin'." He grinned and reached into his pocket for his phone, clicking a few buttons and then handing it over to Kurt. "Read away, lady or gentleman."

Kurt rolled his eyes, looking down at the screen. He had probably written that Dave had erectile dysfunction or something else stupid—

That line of thought was cut off abruptly as he caught sight of a picture. Of him. On Dave's back. Kurt's eyes widened. Oh, God. This was not good.

The picture had been taken from a frontal view, so Dave's head was near the ground and Kurt was sitting on his back, arms wrapped around that big chest, a grin on his face.

But from that angle it didn't look like he was just *sitting.*

_FOOTBALL STAR 'DADDY' DAVE KAROFSKY KEEPS BOY PROSTITUTE_

_Just when you thought you knew all there is to know about your favorite sports stars, the Abraham of gossip is here to reveal the truth to his chosen people! Dallas Cowboy's tight end, Superbowl Champion 'Demolition' Dave Karofsky is taking his ability to "blow" things to a whole new level! Seen today with failing actor Kurt Hudson-Hummel (Mattress Land commercial, 2010; Callus Cream Cleanser spread in 'Maximizing Middle Life Magazine,' 2016) on the field of the high school that both thespian and thug attended, Demolition seems to be out to prove that he is, in fact, a very tight end! (And, with a man built like that, you can bet that Hudson-Hummel is a wide receiver!)_

_And anonymous source identifying themselves only as 'Cheer Throat' has affirmed that, desperate for money after years spent living in a closet under the stairs at the home of his biological father, step-mother, and mentally retarded step-brother, Hudson-Hummel has signed a four year lease on his body to his *new* 'Daddy.' In accordance to this contract, in exchange for the provision of food, shelter, and peacock feathers, Demolition Dave will take on the roll of 'Daddy' to Hudson-Hummel's 'boy' for the foreseeable future. Full terms of the contract are, at this time, unknown; however, Cheer Throat did affirm that conditions include the right to be rimmed before and after every game as long as an unending supply of bow-ties and jasmine scented lubricant is provided. Just remember, loyal followers of the Word, you heard it from the Media Messiah of Israel first!_

Kurt stared blankly at the screen for a long moment, his mouth hanging open in disbelief. What. The. Fucking. Hell? His breath started coming faster as he glared down at that big mouthed waste of space, his lips curling up and his fists clenching. Jacob Ben Israel was *dead.*

"Well?" Dave said, raising an eyebrow. "What do you think?"

Kurt laughed coldly, eyes narrowing as he glared at Jacob. "You hold his head. *I'll* flush."

o o o o o o

"Keep spreading it," Kurt directed idly as he moved down the screen, scanning all the responses to the article. "Make sure you cover *everything.*" He winced. Good God, the article had only been up twenty minutes. How did it already have 50,000 hits?

**DemosDate6969:** this is bullsh*t! Demo is my man, u stay away from him you scrawny bitch!

**Baby2Cool99:** This explains so much. I knew that a man like Dave couldn't be satisfied with just one woman! More holes, more SCORE!

**MrSandyLuvsDolls:** I've touched that Dave boy! In an entirely appropriate manner during a mandatory search for banned substances including balloons filled with urine and wholesale Viagra, of course. See Figgins? I WAS a true role model to my students!

**RainbowHappy777:** will u walk in a pride parade with your new male prostitute, karofsky? it would b so good 4 the community!

**Cheers4DallasDiva**: Oh, husband of mine. The things you get yourself into. NOW I understand why you never want to wax your chest, *Leather Daddy*. HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!

**SpankingTime101:** Nice boy you have there, Demo. The Society of American Leather Daddies would love to do an interview for our website if you have the time. Feel free to send agent contacts to

**TheAzMachine:** LMFAO! Jacub,u do realize that ur dead, right?

**Bad2theBone666:** …this kinda scares me. And gives me images I didn't want involving NFL locker rooms. I must bleach my mind now.

**Dave_Karofsky:** u will b getting a little phone call from my lawyer-right after u get a visit from my fist! Maybe take a little swim, 2? I see flushing in your future! Oh, and 'Cheer Throat'? I am coming 4 u next you bitch—and we're REALLY gonna 'get physical'! I'll show u what type Dave Karofsky is!

**.AttLaw:** Please disregard all comments or threats from any persons referring to themselves as David Karofsky, including but not limited to the username "Dave_Karofsky." Linda Azimio, Attorney at Law will be contacting you soon on behalf of the REAL Mr. David Karofsky who is in no way affiliated with any users on this site.

**Dave_Karofsky:** what she said. (But ur still dead!)

**c0wb0yf00tballfanatic:** so the rumors were true? Whoa. What's your wife say?

**Cheers4DallasDiva:** can I watch?

**soSUEmeSylvester**: You're not my type, Karofsky-Who-Is-Not-Karofsky. And, apparently, I am not yours either if this intriguing article has anything to say about it! I guess I am simply not sparkly enough. But, hey, I like that attitude!

**Finn3sNinjaTurtles:** huh, this dude's boy looks kinda like my brother. i'll have 2 show him—he'll LOL so hard! I 3 ur gossip blog, messiah! oops,got a tweet frm perez, g2g.

**iPoopFootball:** GO COWBOYS! LJHDBP UHF&*BT%GE!

Kurt shook his head, shooting another death glare at Jacob. That bastard thought he could mess with him? Just because he had never thrown a punch *didn't* mean that he couldn't make someone hurt. He'd show the jerk that just because a man liked his beauty products *didn't* mean he couldn't handle himself. Jacob Ben Israel was going to be *very* sorry he messed with Kurt Hummel.

"We're ready to go, Kurt," Azimio said, smirking as he pressed down on Jacob's shoulders, firmly holding down the struggling sonofabitch. "He's all covered." He chuckled loudly and flashed Dave a grin.

Kurt put his hands on his hips, staring down coldly at Jacob. "Tell me. Have you by any chance reconsidered your position on removing this article from your blog yet, Jacob?" he asked in a sickeningly sweet voice. He knelt down next to the other man, leaning in with a vicious scowl on his face.

Jacob just glared back at him, a look that would have been more impressive had there not been toilet water and urine trickling down his face. After the seventeenth flush had not yet granted them the results they were looking for, they had let Azimio pee in the toilet. The bastard deserved it.

"I have a right to free speech! Freedom of the press! This is America! Land of the free and home of the brave!"

Dave snickered. "You're not going to be so brave after *this*, boy. Trust me. I have *had* experience. I cried for an hour." He patted his chest, shaking his head. "I swear, my nipples have never forgiven me."

Jacob snorted. "You think you can scare me into taking down that article, Karofsky? Please! That little bit of gossip is *golden*! I'll get a million hits in a day! You really think that a little *wax* is gonna scare me? It wasn't even that hot!"

"Trust me," Dave replied dryly. "The wax on is not the problem. It's all about the wax off."

Kurt chuckled, a little wickedly, as he smiled down at Jacob, who was covered from head to feet in waxing paper—including the balls in between. When he had added wax to hit emergency beauty products kit he'd had *no* idea how useful it would really be. "You think that water boarding is hard? Trying having your pubic hair ripped off at high speeds! *That's* hard!"

Azimio shook his head, looking amused. "Seriously, man, you shoulda stuck to just pissin' off D. He might 'ave broken yo' legs, but at least he'd have left yo' balls intact. This is *vicious*."

"Oh, quit trying to scare me," Jacob spat, sour faced. "Women do this all the time! It can't be that bad!"

"Women are masochists," Dave replied flatly. "High heels. Thong panties. Having sex with middle aged men. Reading Cosmopolitan. Eyebrow plucking. They just like the way it hurts."

"Look Jacob," Kurt said sweetly, "I'll give you one more chance. Take down that article and we'll just ease this wax off. Otherwise, I won't stop until you're *begging* for mercy."

Jacob glared, eyes narrowing. "Bring it on, Hummel."

Kurt chuckled and glanced over at the other men with a look so vicious it made them both flinch slightly as they exchanged a nervous look. "Gentlemen, I think that I will start with his balls."

o o o o o o o

"Well, where have you boys been?" Blaine questioned as they all trudged into the choir room, sans Jacob, who they had left duct taped to one of the goal posts on the football field.

After twenty minutes of hair removal-and a hell of a lot of screaming-the "Media Messiah" had finally relented and removed his blog post. Unfortunately for all involved, it had already gotten about 300,000 hits.

"No where," Kurt said shortly, looking furiously around the room for a certain blonde head. "Have any of you seen Sue?"

Will shook his head. "No. Did she put possums in the air ducts again?"

Kurt rubbed tiredly at his brow. Why the hell couldn't anything ever go as planned? Oh, yeah—because that's not how 'Sue C's It.' "I wish. At least then we could just call animal services."

"What's she done now, Kurt?" Beiste asked with concern. "Did she put used cat littler in your costume wardrobe again? I swear that woman is as crazed as a tin can in a tambourin sometimes."

Kurt let out a cold laugh. "Oh, no, Shannon. It's much worse than that."

Will's eyes widened as he looked down at the scone he was holding. "Oh, God, not laxatives. Tell me it's not laxatives!" He grimaced. "God, that was horrible."

Kurt snorted. "No, you can relax, Will. It's not the food."

"Laxatives?" Mercedes asked, sounding confused.

"The PTA was trying to cut her budget," Beiste said, shaking her head. "It was horrible. The toilets were so backed up that they had to shut down the school for two days and send the plumbers in wearing Haz Mat suits." She shuddered. "What could be worse than that?"

"Dave is Hummel's Daddy," Azimio replied with a laugh, grinning when his friend smacked him upside the head. "Say 'aaaah' for Daddy, Hummel—SHIT!" he shouted, shoving Dave away as the other man grabbed at his underpants and pulled. Hard. "Dammit, Dave! Who da hell do you think you are to go around pantsing people?"

"Sorry," Dave replied, not sounding sorry at all. "I slipped."

"Um, okay, I'm confused," Blaine said frowning as he moved over to wrap his arm around Kurt, pulling him close as he stared at Dave with a strange look on his face. Almost angry? "What happened Kurt?"

Kurt sighed. What could he even say to that? 'Oh, Sue just told the world that I am Dave Karofsky's boyslut.' He shook his head, grimacing. "It's nothing. I don't even want to talk about it. Though, God help me, one of these days I swear I am going to break into Sue's office and replace all of her trophies with vibrating dildos."

"Sounds pricey," Mercedes said with a raised eyebrow, looking amused.

"I'll be footing the bill," Dave replied dryly. "I mean, what are Daddies for, right?"

Kurt snorted in amusement, shaking his head as he grinned at the other man. "Oh, shush, David."

Dave smiled back, shrugging. "Whatever you say, boy toy."

Blaine frowned, looking back and forth between the two, eyes narrowed. "David, huh? I thought nobody but your dad called you David," he said, sounding a little prim.

"Well," Dave replied, "since the definition of 'daddy' has become rather lax these days, I guess I'll let it go." He shook his head, looking amused. "Seriously, that woman is brilliant in the worst of ways. If she weren't so damn sadistic she'd be freaking hilarious."

"What *happened*?" Blaine asked as he intertwined his fingers with Kurt's, squeezing.

Kurt sighed loudly. "Let's just say that next time I decide that I want the world to know my name, I'll be a little more specific as to what way." He snorted. An 'anonymous source,'" Kurt made quotation marks in the air, "known only as 'Cheer Throat,' contacted Jacob Ben Israel and informed him of our little reunion. And, of course, that I am David's newly hired Daddy's boy. Apparently I work for bow-ties and peacock feathers."

"I can see that," Puck put in, causing Kurt to glare.

"What can I say? I pay for the best," Dave said with a smirk.

Mercedes made a choking sound and Kurt rolled his eyes. "It's okay, Mercedes. You can laugh."

"Jacob Ben Israel?" Finn questioned, perking up. "You mean the Media Messiah? I love him! I get all his tweets." He grinned widely. "It's funny you mention him—he just put up this article about a guy who looks *just* like you, Kurt! You got to see it—it's hilarious!"

There was a long silence as everyone in the room stared at Finn in disbelief. He looked around, his confusion apparent. "What?"

"He *really* passed high school?" Dave questioned, raising an eyebrow.

Kurt waved a hand dismissively. "I don't know. He may have just shown up at graduation and walked across the stage. He forgot to wear his robe." He shrugged. "But hey, he's good at his job."

"What does he do?" Blaine questioned eyeing the man who just continued to grin widely at them.

"Paint grass."

"Ah."

Kurt shook his head, pressing in closer to Blaine. "But you know what? Screw it. It's done. Nothing that we can do about it. I am *not* going to let Sue Sylvester ruin my damn reunion! I have worked way too hard for this!" He pointed a finger. "So all of you had better start reuniting, because this thing is going to be a success if it kills me!"

"Or turns you into a male prostitute," Dave said with a smirk.

"Oh, shut up, you big oaf," Kurt shot back with an amused shake of the head.

"Hey I'm just sayin—"

"So!" Blaine cut in, smiling widely as he looked back and forth between Dave and Kurt. "It has been way, way too long, Kurt!" He winked. "I mean, if you were taking on escort services, you could have at least let *me* know! I did teach you the ropes." He wagged his eyebrows, causing Kurt to blush and Dave to snort. Blaine leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Kurt's cheek. God, he was so sweet.

"Oh, hush, Blaine! We don't need to go around sharing all our dirty secrets!" He giggled as Blaine made a sad face. "But really, how have you been doing? It seems like forever since I've talked to you." He smiled a little sadly. "It's kind of been hard to get ahold of you."

Blaine leaned back against the piano, squeezing Kurt's hand. "I know. I'm so sorry, lovely. I have just been *so* busy that you wouldn't even believe it! Doing great things!"

"You saved the world from aliens?" Dave asked with feigned interest. Azimio laughed, smacking him in the arm.

Blaine gave Dave rather superior looking smirk. "Well, let's just say that pretty soon you, Mr. Karofsky, may not be the only one at these reunions to be living the big life of the rich and the famous!"

Azimio snorted at that. "The big life? Dude, he made me stand in line with him for three hours on Black Friday waiting for Best Buy to open so that he could save fifty dollars on a GPS."

Dave scowled, face reddening slightly as Blaine made a little sound of amusement. "Shut up, Az," he muttered, glaring when his friend just continued to smirk at him.

"You got a recipe holder full of coupons so that you can save fifty-four cents on laundry detergent."

"I said shut *up*, Azimio."

"You added up the dollar menu items versus the value meals at McDonalds to see which was the better deal."

Blaine chuckled. "Well, it's good to know that you can manage money, David. But it you ever need to get laundry detergent in a hurry, you can count on me to loan you fifty four cents."

Dave shot an annoyed look at Blaine. "Hey, not everyone was always rich, okay, Mr. Private School? My dad taught me to spend wisely. And don't call me David."

"Because it remind you of assholes?" Blaine just smiled benignly as Dave made an irritated sound. "I have no problem with the working class. I, myself, have spent many years building up to my recent success. I didn't always have the money I have now." He shrugged. "You are not the *only* successful one here." He glanced over at Kurt. "I, too, am doing pretty well for myself, Kurt."

Kurt frowned at the way the two men were glaring at each other. How the hell had they gotten into this discussion? And what was up with Dave and Blaine? Obviously they had never been buddies, but they kind of looked like they wanted to rip each others throats out. Okay, Dave looked like he wanted to rip Blaine's throat out. Blaine looked like he wanted to piss on Dave's stoop. But same basic principal. "Um, that's wonderful, Blaine. I'm really glad for you."

Blaine smiled widely, shooting a look at Dave. "Thank you, Kurt."

Okay, when was the cat fight going to start and what had happened to all the junk Blaine had been spurting about 'being the better person' and 'letting it go'?

Dave scowled. "So, what is it that you're doing now that's got you buying whatever you want at McD's and getting your electronics at sticker price, huh, pretty boy?"

Blaine smiled, a little arrogantly. "I have actually had quite a success in the industry since Kurt and I were last able to be together." He shrugged, winking at Kurt. "A few months ago I received a recording contract. My album is in the works and I received a quite sizable advance, as a sign of their confidence in me."

Kurt's eyes widened and a smile broke across his face. "Oh my god, that's fabulous, Blaine!" He reached out, grabbing his old boyfriend by the shoulders and pulling him into a tight hug, burying his face in his neck. He breathed in deeply. Blaine still wore the same cologne. God, he hadn't realized how very much he had missed just *being* with someone. "I knew you could do it! You are *so* talented!"

As they pulled apart Blaine planted a kiss on his forehead. "Hopefully it will be a hit!"

"I'm sure it will," Kurt said confidently, squeezing Blaine's hands in his. "Oh, this is so exciting! I really do miss LA!" And being with Blaine. Being with *someone*. Lima was just so... lonely.

The other man chuckled. "Well, you know, you're not in lockdown, and there *are* planes running from here to Hollywood." He leaned forward, the tip of his nose brushing Kurt's. "I mean, *I'll* be there, and I'd love to have you with me."

Kurt's breath caught slightly. Blaine wanted him back. They could be together. He could be there while Blaine became a star, could be with him, love him…

He caught Dave's eye, frowning at the sad look on the man's face. In all the Jacob mess and the excitement of Blaine's announcement he had forgotten about their talk earlier. He really needed to try and help Dave find some friends. He smiled at him, then frowned again when the man looked away. Hm.

"So, what do you think?" Blaine asked, eyes flickering between Kurt and Dave, a slight frown on his face.

Kurt started, turning his attention back to Blaine. "God," he said, smiling, "I think it would be a dream come true."

"You're gonna go back to LA?" Finn questioned, looking like he was not quite sure if this was a good thing or not.

Kurt glanced over at him, smiling. "I *have* been in Lima a long time, Finn. Maybe it's time for me to go back."

Blaine nodded sagely. "We all need to follow our dreams."

"And we all know that *his* dream is *you*," Dave said flatly, rolling his eyes.

Kurt shot him a look. "David!"

"Well, I am quite the dream..." Blaine laughed. "I'm kidding. Don't be so silly about it, Dave! Kurt's dream is to be a star!" His eyes sort of narrowed slightly, despite the big smile on his face, and Kurt frowned a little. "And, for that, *Hollywood* is the place to be! Not someplace like Ohio. ...Or Texas." He chuckled. "That's where *some* people belong—but not a star like Kurt!"

Dave sucked in a sharp breath, a look of annoyance passing over his face, and for a moment Kurt was afraid he was going to shove Blaine into the piano or something. Really, why in the world were he and Blaine bickering? They had barely spoken to each other before this reunion. It wasn't like they had any old bones to pick. After a moment, though, Dave shrugged. "Yeah okay," he said casually, crossing his arms over his chest as he eyed Kurt, grinning a little wickedly, like he had just sprung some trap. Uh-oh. Kurt resisted the urge to look over his shoulder and see if a slushie machine had magically appeared. "But before you hop a plane for Californication, don't forget that you owe me lunch before you go."

What? Since when did he owe Dave lunch? Kurt frowned slightly, confused. "Excuse me?"

Dave smirked. "Should have tried harder to read my poker face. Remember that the next time you make a bet with me." He winked at him. "All the boys are heading to the game with me tomorrow. Why don't you come along and buy me a meal before it starts." He patted his stomach, looking amused. "And bring your check book. I got a big appetite." He chuckled and pushed past the smaller man toward the food table, leaving Kurt looking after him in disbelief.

"A bet?" Blaine questioned, looking kind of suspicious.

Kurt shook his head, letting out a little laugh. "You don't *even* want to know," he said, watching with amusement as Dave stuffed about twenty cheese squares in his mouth at once. Forget the check book. This was going to be a job for the Platinum Visa card.


	9. Ch 9: Interception

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

**NOTE ON CONTENT/RATING:** Most of this story is an R-level rating. What smut there is has been edited down to a R/M rating. I will make a note in these edited chapters. If you are of legal age in your area of residence and would like to read the un-edited story, you can find it at sparklybat [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] homefieldadvantage

**Ch. 9: Interception **

Eight hundred bucks and they couldn't even get him a damn pizza? Seriously, for *that* swipe of the debit card, marinara and cheese should have been making hot love in the middle of his damn suite. But he *could*, of course, try some of their delicious entrees. Yeah right. As if he'd eat anything on *that* menu. Baby cows were cute when they went 'mooo,' he *didn't* believe in dropping living sea creatures into pots of boiling hot water, and snails were for pouring salt on, not for shoving in your mouth. For the love of God, all he wanted was a pan supreme, a thin crust pepperoni, and a hand tossed sausage for dessert. And also some breadsticks—

_Kurt scowled up at him. "Excuse me, but I don't think anybody said you could sit here, Karofsky."_

Okay, maybe not breadsticks. Cinnamon squares. Yeah. Those would be good. He glanced at his watch, wondering idly if there was still time to add to his order.

Dave sighed and scanned the lobby from his perch on the edge of the check-in counter, kicking his feet in the air as he he furrowed his brow in concentration. "Okay… I spy with my little eye something beginning with 'B.'"

"Hm… um, is it a mineral?" Samantha the Check-In Girl who was 24, newly divorced with three kids, worked a second job at McDonald's, liked tuna fish sandwiches better than baloney, hated her mother in-law, liked dogs, wanted to be a hair stylist, and was born in Indianapolis asked, looking around the room.

"Nope."

Good God, when was the pizza guy gonna get here? As much fun as it was to scare rich people away from the check-in counter by grinning madly and rattling off the words 'alms for the poor!' in a slurred voice every time they approached, it would be nice to get his damn food. And really, being stared at in disdain by a bunch of people with diamond studded sticks up their asses was getting old. They all needed to go get a 24 karat gold enema or something. Hell, the assistant manager had tried to kick him out an hour ago when he'd shown up in the lobby wearing old grey sweat pants, an undershirt, and no shoes—something about how while the hotel supported the homeless community they did not actually provide housing for them—but that faux pas had been quickly rectified when the manager had recognized Dave, fired the assistant manager, and asked him to sign a cocktail napkin for his son.

It was nice to be appreciated. Seriously, though, if they had a problem with him sitting around looking like a commoner, well, they could take it up with the card they'd charged a billion bucks to. This was what he got for letting Katie make the reservations. Places that employed people whose entire job description was to stand in front of an elevator dressed in a penguin suit just to push the buttons was not really Dave's thing.

"Is it an animal?"

"Yeah." His stomach rumbled and Samantha the Check-In Girl giggled. He gave her a sort of half-hearted smile, trying to inject at least s little bit of actual happy into it. After the fiasco that afternoon, Dave wasn't in the greatest of moods. He could really use a gallon of ice cream or two. Some vanilla cookie dough would be nice, or some strawberry delight. Maybe even a couple of scoops of mint chocolate chip. Or stick 'em all together in an oversized banana split. God, he was hungry. The food at that reunion had been *shit*. Well, actually, it had been fabulous. Unfortunately, to Dave's taste buds were a little too attuned to 'baked potato, all the way' and 'philly cheese stake sandwich' to process 'fabulous' properly, so 'like shit' was as close as he could get to a description. Not that he hadn't stuffed his mouth with it anyway, pigging out. Oink, oink. He had opened his mouth and the next thing he knew the entire cheese tray was gone and there were about a hundred toothpicks in a pile in front of him. God, he must have looked disgusting…

"_Wow, Dave," Kurt said, laughing lightly. "You sure can eat. I'm not sure I can *afford* to take you to breakfast, big boy!" He shook his head, flashing that pretty smile. "Leave some for the rest of us!"_

Polite little Kurt. Such a nice way to say that the way Dave shoved food straight from his throat into his fat ass made him want to puke. Somehow he didn't think he'd be invited out to dine with Fancy anytime soon. But, hell, after Blaine and Kurt's little lovey-dovey scene, Dave had been ready to eat the damn table. Because he was hungry. Really, really hungry. Not sad. A big boy like him needed feeding. He was hungry. Not sad, just *starving*. Dave snorted at the thought. What could he say? 'Who needs a therapist when you have tacos and a chili dog' had always been his motto.

"Is it a homosexual?"

Dave started slightly, glancing sharply over at Samantha the Check In Girl, frowning. "Excuse me?"

"_It's not bad karma that you don't like girls, okay?" Kurt said, sounding frustrated. "It's just something you have to be strong enough to embrace. It's a struggle, but you can overcome it. I did."_

Samantha smiled benignly at him, tilting her chair back slightly so she was balanced on the two back legs. "I said, is it a homosapien?"

Dave's lip twitched in amusement. Freudian moment, anyone? "Yeah. Sort of."

God, why had he even *come* to this stupid reunion? He couldn't remember. Okay, he remembered the real reason, but he wasn't currently *admitting* to the real reason, and his pretend reasons seemed to have slipped his mind. Bully some Gleeks? Hook up with Az and wreak havoc? Sit in a corner in the locker room and cry deeply as he remembered the day he had practically made Kurt sob by trying to shove his chapped lips against that pouty, shiny mouth? Not that it really mattered *why*. He'd come, he'd conquered nothing, and he was going to end this reunion just like he'd started it—alone. Not that he had expected anything different. And if there had been even the *slightest* hope that Kurt Hummel would actually give him the time of day, he wasn't going to admit it now. It was *totally* not a guy thing to admit to things like hope or love or becoming erect at odd, uncomfortable moments. Hell, he wasn't sure what he *had* expected to get out of this. Maybe he thought that, by seeing the boy who had started it all, that he'd feel less alone? More free to be the person he had spent so many years denying that he was? Ha. He felt more alone now than ever.

He could *really* use some pizza right now. And ice cream. Surely this hotel had some fucking *ice cream*. They had to have something to put on their overpriced cobblers, right?

Dave sighed. What *had* he wanted? Why *had* he come? To try and impress Kurt? To show him that he was more than just that sweaty, chubby bully he'd been in high school? To flaunt how he'd become rich and famous? To prove that he hadn't lost any hair? Dave rubbed tiredly at his face. He'd been out of his mind. Yeah, he was rich. So was Hugh Hefner—that didn't mean you'd wanna date him. Yeah, he was famous—to guys like Hudson and Puckerman and Abrams and Evans, maybe. But Kurt hadn't even known he *played* ball and probably thought that the NFL was the National Fashion League or something. And if he'd wanted to show him just how much he had matured since that first kiss in the locker room, he had sure failed miserably. 'Hey, Kurt, look how out and proud I am! Oh, and this is my wife, Katie.' A 'FAIL' of epic proportions.

He was an idiot.

"Is it a man?"

"_I really have missed you so much," Blaine said quietly as he wrapped an arm around Kurt, smiling down at that pretty face. "You are the most beautiful person in the world."_

"Yeah," Dave said dully. "It's a man."

Definitely a man.

"Is it the bald guy—oh, hey, I think your pizza's here."

Dave looked up, letting out a sigh of relief as he saw a scrawny teenager holding a bunch of boxes walking across the lobby, trying to avoid running into the many ruby encrusted fuckwits looking at him with disdain. Thank God. He starving. Really, he felt like he'd been put on a grapefruit diet or something.

He hopped down off the counter as the boy approached, reaching out to take the boxes. "Thanks," he muttered gruffly as he balanced them on one arm, yanking open the one at the top of the stack and grabbing a piece of supreme, stuffing half of it into his mouth at once.

"_Oh, don't be silly, David! It's just caviar!" Kurt shook his head, chuckling. "You do know that pizza and beer are *not* actually food groups, right?"_

"Uh, could you sign this for me please, sir?"

Dave glanced over as he chewed. Couldn't he eat in peace? He was sick of signing autographs—oh. The kid was holding out the receipt. "Yaw," he said through a mouth full of pizza. "Here, jus' hand it over and—"

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I'm looking to check in. I don't actually have a reservation…"

Dave shuffled the pizza boxes over a little further to the left as he tried to twist his arm into a position where he could actually write a discernible tip without tipping forward so much that pizza toppings fell out of his overloaded mouth. "Hewe, lemme move ova—" The sentence was cut short when Dave's foot caught on the very expensive hotel's very expensive rug. Time was suspended for a moment, like that instant during a tackle where your whole body is in the air and you know the collision is coming and your opponent is just inches from your face, then he toppled forward with a cry, his pizza boxes slipping from his arms like a fumbled ball.

Shit. He was down. Totally down.

Dave hit the ground with a grunt, taking the hit to his big shoulder. Tackled in the hotel lobby, by a rich rug, nonetheless. Pitiful. Really pitiful. Not to mention that his pizzas had been intercepted.

"Oh my god, are you okay, sir?" The pizza kid hovered over him, eyes wide in his acne covered face, and Dave grunted, pushing himself up on one arm.

Check-In Girl's voice was high. "Oh, no! I, uh, let me get you a towel, sir…"

Dave's face flushed as he pushed himself into a sitting position. For an athlete he could really be a fucking klutz sometimes. "God," he said as he reached up to grab the edge of the counter, pulling himself up to see the damage. "I'm so sorry, man!" Could they sue you for pizza flinging? Probably. With his luck they could take the whole damn farm and his Superbowl ring, too. "I am really *so* sorr—" He cut off abruptly as his eyes met the unintended target of his pizza bomb. "Blaine?" Wow. His pizza really *had* been intercepted by the opposing team.

The man stared back at him, mouth hanging open in disbelief. His carefully coifed hair was full of pizza toppings and there was a slice was sitting on his shoulder like an edible parrot. Marinara stains covered his pretty shirt and not even his shoes had made it unscathed, unless they were selling loafers decorated with pepperoni these days.

Dave's face reddened. Oh, this day just got better and better. If he hadn't looked like an oaf before, he sure as hell did now. "Man… I'm really sorry. Seriously." Actually, it might have been kind of funny had the image of Blaine passing this little tidbit on to Kurt not ruined the vibe completely. Okay, it was *still* funny, especially the way Blaine was gaping like a fish. But somehow Dave didn't think that laughing right now would be good for the state of his balls. A cup was not usually required for hotel football. Damn the rug. It made for a menacing tackle.

Blaine just continued to stare, looking like maybe he was in shock. Dave frowned, brow furrowing at the other man's total lack of reaction. Maybe he should get an ambulance. These gay guys took their wardrobe really seriously.

"Blaine?"

The other man blinked, then shook his head rapidly, sending a few pieces of green pepper tumbling to the ground. Well, at least he hadn't been rendered comatose. Apparently they were going to continue on as if Dave *hadn't* just dumped a pan pizza over Blaine'd head because the man just took a deep breath and flashed him a rather plastic looking smile, his voice forcibly cheerful. Seriously, these Gleeks could grin through anything. They should totally hook up with the Cowboy's cheerleaders. Smiling so hard it made you wince just to look at it was a special talent of theirs. "Dave. How, uh, funny to meet you here. I had pegged you as more of a bargain shopper." He glanced pointedly around the hotel lobby, probably trying to imply how pricey/fancy it was. At least that was what Dave assumed since he followed the other dude's gaze and didn't see anything out of the ordinary to look at, unless you counted the old woman in a silk moo-moo pushing her rhinestone covered walker slowly toward the elevator. But she wasn't that interesting so it was probably just Blaine being an ass. He was good at that lately.

"_Good God, David. How can you stand to even *enter* that store. WalMart is a travesty to the fashion industry." Blaine wrinkled up his nose cutely. "Besides, they don't support gay rights."_

Dave scowled. God, he was hungry. He stared down at the scattered pizza boxes, wondering if it would make him look like even more of a Neanderthal if he just picked a piece up off the ground and ate it. Ah, screw it. Some of it was still in the boxes. And he might as well admit it: he had gained Neanderthal status about ten years back and one weekend probably wasn't going to cure it. Especially since these little poncey boys considered just about everything he liked to do 'extraordinarily ordinary.' Because God forbid someone wear a baseball cap turned backward. He might as well buy a farm in Alabama and spend his free time doing square dances to 'Cotton Eyed Joe.'

Dave bent down, grabbing a piece of pepperoni and taking a bite, smiling as nicely as he could when someone was Pissing Him Off. "Yeah," he said around the mouthful of pizza. "I'm more of a Motel 6 kind of guy. Or Holiday Inn, if I'm willing to splurge and they got a deal going on." He shoved the rest of the pizza in his mouth and the other man raised an eyebrow.

Blaine lifted the piece of pizza balanced on his shoulder with a theatrical twist of the wrist, holding it out with a superior little smirk. "You want this one, too?"

"_He's beautiful, isn't he?" Blaine said quietly to Dave as they watched Kurt waving his hands about as he regaled Mercedes with tales of… well, something involving six malls, a must-have sequined scarf, and an over drafted bank account. "Oh, don't try and pretend with me, Dave. I know infatuation when I see it."_

Yeah, he wanted that one, too.

Dave grabbed the piece of pizza from Blaine and shoved *it* in his mouth as well. Maybe if he was lucky he would die from its contact with Blaine's surely poisonous hair products. The boy had so much goop in his hair that it *had* to leak onto everything. He probably had Butch Wax in his underpants. "I'm, uh, really sorry about the pizza thing." And he was, totally. Mostly because half of his pizza was scattered across the floor, but Blaine didn't have to know that.

Blaine waved a hand in the air. "It's okay. That's what showers are for, right?"

Dave nodded and there was a moment of uncomfortable silence. He should say something. He'd really rather just walk off, but he had thrown pizza in the dude's face. And for someone who used that many beauty products, he might as well have dumped acid over his head. Though that much hair gel might actually protect him from acid… Dave cleared his throat, not because it needed clearing, but because he'd seen Kurt do it to end awkward silences instead of just saying, 'Well, how *bout* dem Saints?' while pounding a fist against his chest. And if Kurt did it, then it must be Ms. Manner's approved. "Um, so… how long are you planning to stay in Lima?"

"_I would love to go back to LA with you, Blaine! I'd need to finish out the school year, or at least this semester, but… Oh it would be so wonderful to be together again!" Kurt's smile was blinding and Dave's heart plummeted. Maybe all the way too his feet. He wasn't sure how far a heart could actually plummet, but whatever the lowest distance was, it was definitely there. A feeling he needed to suppress immediately, lest he break the Guy Code and start sniffling like a little girl. Maybe he should go call a sex line or something._

"Oh, I'll just be here a few days. I want to get some time in with Kurt before heading back."

"Yeah," Dave said, awkwardly sticking his hands in the pockets of his sweats because he was pretty sure they looked stupid hanging there at his sides. How the hell could Blaine manage to look so fashionable with marinara sauce on his nose and a green pepper in his ear? "I can tell he's really into you."

A frown passed over Blaine's face. "Yeah," he said slowly, a little crinkle appearing between his eyes. "I guess so…"

"Please," Dave said, forcing a grin. Look happy. Blaine made Kurt happy. Dave wanted Kurt happy. Come full circle, Dave should be happy toward Blaine. Or something. God, relationship logic was complicated. How did girls do it? Did they explain this stuff in Cosmo? He knew they listed a lot of sexual positions… "He gets goo goo eyes every time you walk through the door, man."

"Um, I'm sorry, sir, but this card doesn't seem to be working." Samantha the Check-In Girl held out Blaine's Visa, looking apologetic.

Blaine frowned seriously—or at least as seriously as you could look with pieces of sausage in your 'do. "No, it works. That's the good one. Try it again."

The girl shrugged and reached down to slide it through again. After a moment she shook her head. "I'm sorry, sir, but it's not going through. Do you have another card we could try?"

Blaine's face had turned an interesting shade of pink that didn't really work with the red of the marinara sauce.

"I'm telling you, that card is fine!"

Samantha the Check-In Girl shifted, looking uncomfortable. "Sir… I've scanned it three times and it's been rejected. Do you have another form of payment?"

Like his ass? Dave grinned and started to say that, along with a friendly punch to the shoulder, but cut himself off abruptly. This was not Azimio. This was Blaine. Azimio would laugh his butt off and make joking propositions toward Samantha the Check-In Girl with a few crude marks about what you could do with a mop handle thrown in for good measure. Blaine would probably just bitch slap him.

God, why couldn't he have this much restraint over his mouth when Kurt was around?

"It's a mistake." Blaine said with the shake of his head.

The girl shrugged. "I'm afraid that it's not going through. Do you have another card?"

"No," he snapped, his voice clipped. "That's the only one that I brought. It *works*. There must be something wrong with your machine."

Who the hell only carried one card? Okay, well Dave didn't actually carry any credit cards because he didn't like to buy things he had to pay off later. His dad had always said that debit cards were the best way to go. But Blaine was obviously a Shopper, an offshoot of the human race that dedicated much of their lives to performing intricate rituals of fashion worship in local malls. Dave was pretty sure that Shoppers were required by the Grand Poo Bah of Shopping to have at least seventeen credit cards on their person at all times. Blaine better be careful or he might be locked away forever in a thrift store, never again able to purchase cashmere new from the shelf.

Samantha the Check-In Girl looked slightly embarrassed. "I… don't think there's anything wrong with the machine, sir."

"Hey," Dave spoke up, trying to head off the explosion that looked like it was rising in Blaine as the man's eyes narrowed on that card. The last thing they needed was an out of their mind Shopper on the loose. Who knew how many Neiman Marcuses could be raided in a night? "God knows, credit card companies are insane. They do weird shit sometime. How 'bout I just get the bill for you, man?" Better than leaving the poor girl at the counter to deal with him. She had spent forty-five minutes playing a strange hybrid of 'I Spy' and '20 Questions' with Dave. She deserved some peace and quiet.

Blaine glanced over at him, looking mildly annoyed. "I can take care of myself, David. I just need to contact the company—"

Stuck up prick. He should never have told him that he didn't like to be called David. Now he'd never stop. Maybe he could talk Azimio into telling Blaine that 'David' was what the clown called him when he covered him in cotton candy and molested him at the carnival as a child. Maybe that would guilt trip him into shutting his mouth. Of course, it depended on Az being able to say that with a straight face, and God knew that would never happen.

Might as well try a little reason. It didn't work with most dudes, but Blaine was of that special, cultured breed that could, like, recite poetry from their penises. "It's eleven o'clock at night, Blaine," Dave said flatly. "Which means that any customer service you get is going to be from India. You really want to be on the phone with Principal Figgins until two in the morning?" There. That thought could terrify anyone into giving in.

"I really don't feel comfortable with you paying for my room," Blaine said, cheeks still pink. "I'll just, um, I don't know. Maybe I'll see if I can stay at Kurt's… I'll just tell him that something went wrong with my card…"

Oh, yeah. Wake up Kurt and then wait for an hour to be picked up while the garlic seeps into your pores. Good choice there, Blaine. "You know what? It's late and you're covered with pizza, dude. Why don't you just come stay with me tonight? Katie got, like a suite or whatever. It's got a living room and two bedrooms. Practically a damn house. I'll bunk with Katie-pie and you can have the other room." He gave a laugh. "Think of it as an apology for dumping my dinner all over your pretty self." It could be his good deed for the day. Maybe he could get the hobbit chick to give him a gold star. She had spent an hour today explaining why, exactly, gold stars were 'kind of her thing.' God, that one never shut her mouth. Finn was really a masochist if he had dated that mouth. He definitely hadn't gotten any good use out of it-it was hard to talk when sucking dick and she never stopped talking.

Blaine hesitated for a long moment, then nodded slowly, his eyes a little suspicious. That's right, Blaine. The Kurofsky Man is coming to kill you in your sleep. Wooooo. "All right. Thank you, Dave." He turned up his nose. How poncey of him. "I'll get this credit card problem cleared up in the morning."

Dave shrugged. "Works for me. C'mon, then." He nodded his head toward the elevators, tossing Samantha the Check-In Girl a smile. "Sorry about that, Sam. I guess you're gonna need a cleanup in the lobby. Tell the janitor I've totally got a big tip for him."

She laughed, waving a hand. "This is the best entertainment I've had all year, Dave. See you later."

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Gonna give her a big tip, too?"

"Hmmm, she's pretty, but not really my type," Dave said, laughing at his own joke.

Blaine blinked. "What?"

Right. Not Azimio. Blaine. "Nevermind," he said, shaking his head. "Man joke." He continued to grin as he grabbed one of Blaine's suitcases and headed toward the elevator. Fine, he would enjoy his man joke in the privacy of his dirty mind.

"Hey, Dave!" Samantha called out. He paused glancing back over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, "What *did* you spy with your little eye that started with a 'B'?"

Dave smirked. "The doorman's buttcrack." They both burst into laughter, which apparently was the trigger for Blaine's patented Superior Look. Dave just snorted and moved toward the elevator.

Obviously Blaine was a top, because there wasn't room for anything else up his butt. The stick he had up there was too damn big.

ooooooooooooooooooo

Mistake Number One: Letting Katie the kinky lady have the master bath. Mistake Number Two: Letting Blaine the beauty queen have the shower first. At this rate Dave was never gonna get the chance to take a piss. Seriously, what was the man *doing* in there, trying to suck his own dick while doing tantric meditations or something? If he was jerking off then he must have the stamina of a middle-aged man on Viagra. Dave glanced over at the bedside clock. Twelve-thirty. God. He should just move his shit over to Katie's room and try to sleep. But the fact that she had The Pussycat Dolls blasting at full volume and her bed was covered with lingerie and a couple of sex toys was quite the motivation to remain far, far away.

He picked up the remote and flipped away from the Japanese cooking show, pausing for a moment to watch the weekly highlights on ESPN. He winced as a one of the commentators drew a little circle around him with their "magic pen" as the ball was hiked and he just stood there, unmoving, as two enormous lineman bodily slammed him.

"I don't know where Karofsky's head was during this game, but it wasn't on the field. The usually indestructible tight end was playing like a rookie on Sunday, fumbling the ball twice, and turning it over—"

Dave scowled and flipped the channel. Fucking commentators. His head had been in the game. Mostly. Sort of.

_Flowers. Right. Flowers. But where did you even get flowers? They had them at the grocery store, right? What kind of flowers did you get? What kind of flowers were there? What if he got them and they didn't match Fancy's outfit? What if—Oh. There was something in his hands. The ball. Was in his hands. Oh, shit. He started to run and… Where the hell did the ball go? Oh, SHIT!_

Dave glanced at the clock again. God, by the time Blaine and Katie were done, the entire hotel would probably be out of hot water.

Dave clicked the remote again. NASCAR highlights. Saturday Night Live. The Home Shopping Network. Queer Eye For the Straight Guy. Comedy Central—

The bathroom door opened and Dave sighed in relief. At least until he looked over and saw Blaine standing there wearing nothing but a towel.

"Dude!" he said in annoyance, covering his eyes. "Totally not cool, man!"

The fact that he was pretty sure he could *hear* Blaine roll his eyes was really quite disturbing. God, pretty boys had such attitudes. Raising your arms in the air and making violent motions toward your chest he totally got. All the eye rolling and sighs of annoyance? Not so much.

"Oh, will you relax?" There was a padding of feet and some shuffling. Hopefully shuffling through his damn clothes because, queer or not, Dave had no interest in seeing Blaine's ass crack. The dude sometimes made Dave want to shove a fist up there, but his dick? Not so much.

"Are you decent yet?" Dave snapped, a little annoyed.

Blaine snorted. "Compared to you? I'm *always* decent."

Dave peeked through his fingers, letting out a sigh of relief when he saw Blaine dressed in a pair of silky looking pajamas. Actually made him feel *underdressed*, sitting on his fat ass wearing nothing but an old Blue Jackets t-shirt and pair of red boxers with little roosters printed all over them. *Of course* Blaine would sleep fashionably. "Yeah, I guess you are."

Blaine moved over to the dresser, a small pink bag in his hands, and began pulling out some little bottles that looked like the Little Bo Peep version of KY, lining them up neatly and then beginning to squeeze them in succession, smearing shit all over his face. Dave had to make a gagging motion, despite the fact that Blaine could probably see him in the mirror. He just couldn't resist. It was like an SNL sketch, it was so stereotypical.

"Seriously, you and Hummel are so alike sometimes that it is painful, man. I'm surprised you guys don't have, like, seizures from gay overload or something whenever you get together."

Blaine turned around suddenly, glaring. Dave almost flinched. Wow. The last time he had seen *that* much anger was when he pushed the Giants' wide receiver out of bounds eight yards from a touchdown on the third down. "That would be because there *is* no such thing as 'gay overload,' David."

Again with the 'David.' Molesting clown, anyone? Maybe he should say it had been Pee Wee Herman. That might be more believable. He could get Azimio to text it to Blaine, then he couldn't ruin it by laughing.

"Two fashionable, refined men can get along just fine together, I will have you know." Blaine sniffed. "But then why should I expect someone as close minded as you to understand that?"

Oh for the love of god. This was *really* getting old. He had just waited an hour and a half to piss while this little princess took a shower. Didn't he get *any* credit? "For God's sake, Blaine, what is your *problem* with me? Yeah, I'm not some cultural cool smooth savvy suave guy or whatever. Yeah, I'm a big, oversized oaf who sticks my foot in my mouth every other second and can't stop shoving junk food into my hole because this whole damn reunion is really making me feel like *shit*." Food. That sounded good. Dave grabbed a slice of the now cold pizza from the box next to him, immediately feeling better as he came damn near to swallowing it whole. God, he wished Azimio was here. He could really use a dirty joke about gag reflexes right now. "But why the hell do you even *care*? We're not friends. We were never friends. But we were never enemies either, dammit! Hell, all I ever even really knew about you was that you were 'Kurt's boyfriend.' And I didn't really care to know any more. So how come everything you say to me, or about me, has to be an oh-so-subtle insult?" He held his hand up when Blaine began to speak, shooting Blaine his own 'you just fucked up my play, now I'm gonna tackle your ass' look. "I'm not *that* stupid, Blaine. Kurt can hear what he wants to hear but you and I both know that just about everything you said at the reunion today was nothin' more than spit in my face."

"_Ah, Dave. It really is good to see that you've… expanded your world views some. I guess you're not quite as far in Narnia as we thought!" Blaine smiled knowingly. "Maybe someday you could march in a Pride parade with us. I know coming out is difficult but if you try hard you might be able to do it before Gabriel blows his horn!" He laughed. "And if not, we can march together when Jesus comes down from the clouds, at least! Unless you're still pretending to have a crush on the Virgin Mary…"_

The look on Blaine's face was cold enough to frost the damn room. Blaine was Pissed Off. Good. Dave liked Pissed Off. He could deal with Pissed Off. It was the subtle, back handed bullshit he really hated.

"You want to know my problem, Karofsky? Well, I'll tell you what my problem is. *I'm* not blind, either, and I can see what you're up to. Just because I dress better than you do and can manage a level of politesse higher than that of a donkey doesn't mean that I can't tell game play when I see it!" His lip curled up slightly. "*You* want Kurt to take a ride on your disco stick. *I* can tell, even if Kurt, bless his sweet heart, is as oblivious as ever. Hell, *I* could see it back in senior year at McKinley!"

"I wasn't even out then," Dave snapped back.

Blaine waved a hand, rolling his eyes. "But I knew about that kiss and even if I hadn't, I saw it in the way you looked at him, the way you acted around him! You *sucked* at flirting, and really just managed to scare the shit out of him most of the time with your boyish maneuvers, but I knew what you were doing. You may think I'm just a little fairy, but I'm a guy, too, Karofsky—and I *do* know a come on when I see it, even if it would just make a lady want to slap you in the face. You and I are more alike than you think. I *see* that you want him. But I am not going to let you just swoop in, grab Kurt, and fly away with him. You may have one up on me in the rich and famous department, Mr. Wide Receiver, but I have the charm to win Kurt and *this* time I am not going to let the man I love get away!"

Dave stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head in disbelief. "First off, I am not playing any damn game, Blaine! Also, I'm a Tight End, not a Wide Receiver. And what the *hell* is a disco stick?"

"I think you know," Blaine snapped back.

Huh? Dave frowned. "No, actually, I don't. And I am not trying to steal Kurt from you, goddamit—though from the way he was babbling about never hearing from you and trying to get ahold of you and shit, I would say that *you* were the one who ditched *him.*" Though why the hell anyone would ever give up Kurt was beyond him.

Blaine turned abruptly to face the mirror, staring coldly at Dave's reflection for a moment before he grabbed another of his little bottles, popping off the top. Dave winced slightly. Maybe he should put on his sunglasses. He did *not* need any more soap in his eyes today.

"I had my reasons for keeping my distance," Blaine said his voice a little rough, then he took a deep breath, visibly steeling himself. "But I am not going to just give up on what I want anymore!" He turned back around, eyes flashing. "Your big and rich attitude might catch Kurt's attention in the short run, but in the end he'll want more than some guy who drives a fancy car and can buy the whole bar drinks. He's deeper than that. I'm not out of the competition yet!"

Out of the competition? Really, where the hell was Blaine's mind? "What the hell are you talking about?" Dave asked, exhasperated. Seriously, dealing with queens was as bad as dealing with chicks, but instead of Pre-Menstrual Syndrome you got Pretty Man Syndrome. "You're the one with the good looks and the smooth attitude. And why are you bitching about my damn money? Fancy car? I drive a 2011 Ford F-150. Besides, you're on the way to big and rich, too, rockstar. So either way, you got one up on me."

Blaine flinched visibly, his jaw tightening. Okay, that was kind of a 'just had something shoved up my butt without warning face'… maybe there *was* room for something up there besides the stick. "Yeah," he muttered as he turned away to rub some sort of nasty looking green cream stuff on his face, eyes locked on his own reflection. His lip turned up and a look of disgust passed over his face. "Right." A bitter laugh. "Oh yeah, I definitely have one up on you. I mean, you're just totally built, super rich, and have a headshot on a Wheaties box. Why would Kurt want any of that?" The sarcasm was thick enough to build a fort with. Blaine shook his head. "I say, why *wouldn't* he?"

Dave had a sudden urge to just shoot himself in the head. He should have just gone and laid amongst Katie's sex toys and Wonderbras. All this Talking About Feelings was really making his inner man want to turn on a hockey game and drink a beer. "Uh, because I'm an overweight bully who sweats like a pig, eats like a horse, and talks like I was born in the back of a pickup because our trailer home had just been foreclosed on?" He shook his head. "I think that's too many comparisons to farm animals for Kurt, especially when the shining little rockstar is around. You with your fancy clothes and your pretty voice, ready to top the Billboard charts—"

"I'm not a rockstar, okay?" Blaine cut in, smacking his hand down on the dresser. He clenched his fists and turned around to glare at Dave once more, leaning back against the dresser.

Dave rolled his eyes. Picky princesses. "Yeah, sorry, *popstar.* American idol. *Whatever*. Same difference—"

"I'm not a popstar, either!" Blaine let out a loud sigh and he dropped his head forward, palming his face tiredly. "My recording contract fell through, okay? They gave me a ten thousand dollar advance and I plowed through it, so fucking sure of myself. I went out, living the high life, stacking up my credit cards thinking that I'm gonna be hearing myself on the radio. And then last week? I get a call. The company filed for bankruptcy. And now I'm six thousand dollars in debt with no deal and nothing but the clothes in my damn suitcases and a credit card that doesn't work anymore in my pocket."

Dave blinked. Okay, hold up. Blaine had... lost his contract? Then why the fuck had he even said he *had* a contract? Seriously, this whole Kurt mess was way too complex for his Neanderthal brain.

"I was planning to hit some no-tell motel, but then Kurt was asking where a star like me or whatever was staying and I just wanted to *impress* him, so I said that he could find me here. And then I figured, hey, just another couple hundred bucks on an already enormous bill. Might as well get a room." Blaine laughed, shaking his head, and Dave resisted the urge to give a lecture on keeping up good credit. God, he was such a tight wad. "Of course, that didn't turn out so well, and I don't think some Indian customer service rep is going to be able help me." He snorted. "But, of course, you couldn't just fuck off so that I could slip out the door. And now here I am, in all my pitiful fallen star glory."

Really, this was beyond Dave's pay grade. They said you did crazy things for love, but he'd always just assumed that meant, like, parachuting into your girlfriend's backyard to propose or something. "But what about all the stuff you were telling Kurt? Why are you lying to him?"

Blaine's face reddened. "I didn't mean to, okay? I was going to tell him, even suggest that maybe we could get a place around here for awhile, but then I show up…" He scowled deeply. "I show up and find the man I love riding around on Dave Karofsky's big back. Tell me, how is the wannabe singer with no job and no place to live supposed to compete with the rich muscle man who brings in, like, a billion bucks a day or whatever? I mean, you're *Dave Karofsky.* My dad wears your jersey on game days."

Oh, this was so stupid. Was Blaine that dim? He was jealous of *Dave*? "You're lying to him because of *me*? Okay, first off, me being Dave Karofsky means nothing to Kurt other than it's what my parents put on my birth certificate. I might as well be a garbage man. I don't think that boy even understood what was happening on the field when he was on the team. He called the damn uprights pitchforks. And, hell, Kurt didn't even know that I was gay—or, well, that I *admit* that I'm gay—until yesterday, dumbass! Don't you see the way he looks at you with those big doe eyes of his? He thinks I'm the offspring of King Kong and Shrek."

Blaine shook his head, looking annoyed. "Maybe so, but he also thinks you're hot. And you may not have spent much time together but, considering how much he hated you before, you've gone pretty fast from 'hamhock' to 'David.'"

Dave shook his head. "This is *crazy*, Blaine. What are you going to do when you two hop the train to LA together, huh? It's gonna be kind of hard to lie then. Especially if you can't even afford a ticket."

Blaine ran a hand nervously through his hair, something that Dave hadn't thought was possible since, even after the shower, it was still glued down. "I know, God, I know. I don't know what the hell I was thinking, okay? You're just, like, standing there and Kurt's all, 'oh, you're so funny, *David* or whatever and I had this overwhelming feeling that I had to say *something that would get his attention, or he'd be off with the better deal for sure."

Oh dear God. Dave laughed aloud at that. "The better deal? Dude, you are out of your mind. He is not *into* me, Blaine. He's, like, madly in love with you or whatever. The only reason we were off together was because he needed someone big enough to hold Jacob Ben Israel's head in the toilet while he flushed the little bastard. Kurt doesn't give a damn if you're the next Britney Spears or not. Shit, he practically ran into your arms. Why the hell were you even worried?"

Blaine ducked his head, looking uncomfortable. He took a deep breath. "God, Dave… I just don't want to lose him again." He bit his lip, looking troubled. "When we were together… at first it was like paradise. But then stuff just started to… get shaky, I guess. We started kind of… bickering. Over stupid stuff. And it just felt like maybe he was starting to slip away. And so I tried so damn hard to impress him, to keep him with me. I would spend hours getting ready for when he'd come home from work so that I'd look like I was magically gorgeous. I'd call elite clubs weeks ahead of time to get on the list and then act like I'd just picked some random club and happened to be on the A-List." He chuckled darkly. "God, I even re-did half of our apartment in colors that would better compliment my damn skin tone so that he when he looked at me he would see me at my best. How pitiful is that?"

Not as pitiful as hiding a picture of him in your locker for seven years. Dave gave him a small smile. Yeah, he could understand Blaine's feelings. Which frightened his big man self, but was probably an okay thing. Bonding moment, anyone? "Well…it was very Martha Stewart of you, man."

Blaine let out a laugh. "No shit. But everything just kept getting worse. It was, like, the harder I tried, the worse things got. In high school it was just so *easy*. But it seemed like he was pulling further and further away… and then Burt got sick and suddenly Kurt was gone." He rubbed at his forehead. "I mean, it was a totally legitimate reason for him to leave. Of course he needed to go help his dad… but you know what? He didn't even invite me to come with him. It was as if we'd gotten to some point, and then it was just all over. And we *swore* we'd keep in touch, but every time he called or texted… I just didn't answer. I was too scared to answer. I mean, I'd been trying *so* damn hard, but he'd just slipped away. What if I answered him and he said that it was over forever, or that he'd found somebody else, or that he was sure I'd 'get along fine without him' or something?" Blaine sighed. "But I never stopped thinking about him. And when I got the email about this reunion… Well, I wasn't gonna go. Because what if Kurt showed up with, like, a fiancee or something?"

Yeah, Dave knew that feeling, too. "That would suck."

Blaine glanced up, giving him a sad smile. "Yeah, it would. So I just sat down with a lot of liquor and our Sweeties Scrapbook and stared at a bunch of pictures of us kissing in the park, and ballroom dancing, and laying on the beach. Which, of course, made me start bawling like a drunken baby. So armed with my liquid courage, I decided that I was going to go. I was going to go and, no matter what, I would get Kurt back. And when I RSVP'd… he just seemed so *happy*… I thought that maybe we did still have a chance." He laughed bitterly. "And then I cruise into the parking lot and what do I see? My boyfriend going nuts on the field with you. *You*, who he'd hated with a vengeance. You, who'd bullied him for years. You, who'd turned out built and rich and famous. And all I could think was how Kurt had kept every last issue of 'Muscle Men Magazine' that he ever got in a big box in the closet. Talk about finding his fantasy."

Dave shook his head. This was sad, in the most twisted way. Blaine was jealous of *him*? Ha. "Blaine," he said quietly, "you do not need to worry about me. Seriously, man, Kurt digs on you *so* bad. The only reason he's even *talking* to me is because he pities me for having to marry pussy."

Blaine gave a choked little laugh. "Yeah, I'd heard about that on ESPN. I'd kind of wondered."

"Sponsors are assholes," Dave said with a shake of the head. "That's all I have to say."

Blaine sighed. "We're both kind of pitiful, aren't we? I mean, you, a gay NFL player with a *wife* and me, so desperate to have Kurt, that I'm picking out sheet colors in an effort to make myself look prettier when we have sex."

Oh yeah. Definitely pitiful. Seriously, having a thing for Kurt was like having a disease of the loins. "Yeah," Dave said with a tired grin. "We *are* kind of pitiful."

They just sat there for a few moments, staring at nothing and wallowing in their absolute pitifulness, before Blaine spoke again, his voice barely above a whisper. "I really want Kurt back, Dave."

Dave's chest tightened as he looked up at the other man. Blaine really *did* care about Kurt. And he could *be* there for Kurt. Even if Blaine was right and Dave *did* have a chance at winning Fancy's heart, it wouldn't be fair to him. Kurt needed someone who could announce to the *world* how much he loved him, not keep him hidden away like a naughty secret, sneaking in a kiss every now and then. Kurt needed someone who could put a ring on his finger, not someone with a trophy wife. Kurt needed a man who would put his picture up on the wall, not hide it behind a mirror in his locker.

But God, it made his heart ache. Funny how seven years hadn't been enough to kill his schoolboy crush.

Really, he should have spent the evening with Azimio. They could be absolutely wasted right now, eating SPAM and watching reruns of 'Walker, Texas Ranger'.

Dave took a deep breath. If there was one thing that football had taught him, it was that sometimes you had to take a hit for the good of the team. And if that hit turns out to be the one that ends your career… well, at least you did it for the team. "I know, man," he said quietly, shoving back the pain and hunger rising in him. He could really use some cookies right now. "And you know what? You guys *should* be together. He adores you."

Blaine looked at him strangely, like he wasn't sure if he had actually heard Dave right. He let out a huff of laughter. "If you're trying to trick me into a false sense of security so that you can slip me roofies and shave my head during the night, Dave Karofsky, I will have you know that it's not going to work."

Shave his head. Oh, Azimio, you lovable dumbass. Dave snickered, his mood slightly lifted as the very manly memory flashed through his mind. "*God,* that was so funny."

A raised eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"I did that to Azimio. Well, not roofies, but sleeping pills. It was so funny. I gave him a reverse Puck—I shaved a line across the top of his head and left the sides." Dave smirked at the look on Blaine's face.

"I am… not even quite sure what to say to that."

Dave chuckled, then gave a shrug. "Look, Elton, I got no claim on Kurt, okay? He's yours for the taking or whatever. I think you're worrying too damn much. Just tell him your recording contract fell through or whatever. He is not into me, man. You're his little fantasy boy, not my fat ass." And if it broke his heart, well, that was what duct tape and a screw driver were for, right?

Blaine raised an eyebrow. "Says the guy who has a date with him tomorrow. Flying to Cleveland with you? I think that shows a little interest."

Dave gave a rough laugh. "Man, I tricked him into it. I kinda feel bad—the poor kid's gonna go outta his mind with boredom at that game with the boys." He shrugged. "I know that my chances are zip. I don't know why you don't see that." Anybody could see that.

"I still think Kurt's more interested in you than you believe," Blaine replied flatly.

"Yeah, well, I don't want him," Dave said harshly, trying to ignore the way the words made his heart clench. The essence of bullshit, baby. "Fancy needs to be with his own kind. Someone as brave as he is. Not some big butt football player whose shoulders are too damn wide to get out of the closet without breaking bone."

Blaine shot him a look. "Oh yeah, beause I'm so *brave*, y'know, lying to the man I love about my entire life."

Dave snorted. "Hey, at least you're not lying to the world." He shook his head. "Look, I won't get in your way, okay? In fact, I'll talk you up to Kurt tomorrow." He paused, tonguing his cheek thoughtfully. If he was gonna take one for the team, he might as well go all the way. The injuries couldn't get any worse, and, hey, that was what Codine was for. "Why don't you come to the game with us tomorrow? Got a private flight back in the morning and the boys are coming with me. Y'know—Mike, Artie, Finn, Puck, Az. Kurt'll be waaay out of his comfort zone there. He might like to have another beauty queen in the vicinity."

Blaine shook his head, looking amused. "You know, Karofsky, I'm not one hundred percent stereotypical gay male. I *do* like football."

Dave forced a grin. "Well, there you go! You can explain to Kurt the difference between the chicken dance and a touchdown dance when we score. It'd give you a chance to connect with Fancy Pants again, anyway."

A small smile appeared on Blaine's face. "You'd do that?"

Dave tackled the ache in his heart, smiling broadly. "Sure, man. Anything for Kurt."

Another long silence. Hell, if you couldn't break it up with talk about the Saints…

"Hey, Blaine? Just what *is* a disco stick?"


	10. Ch 10: Out of Bounds

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

**NOTE ON CONTENT/RATING:** Most of this story is an R-level rating. What smut there is has been edited down to a R/M rating. I will make a note in these edited chapters. If you are of legal age in your area of residence and would like to read the un-edited story, you can find it at sparklybat [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] homefieldadvantage

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ˇ**Chapter 10: Out of Bounds**

"Wow…" Kurt said as he glanced around the cafe. "This is… nice." And it was nice. Very nice, with brightly lit seating against a glass wall that overlooked the field below, each table draped in expensive cloth and laid out with gold plated cutlery. Very, very nice. He had sort of expected Dave to take him to a drive thru.

"Is it?" Kurt smiled slightly at the nervousness in the other man's voice. It really was adorable. "I mean, yeah it is. I guess. Rich people like it, I know that. So it must be nice. Should I stop trying to speak now? Because I have this sinking feeling that I'm making an utter fool out of myself. And yet I continue to speak. And so now I think I should stop. Speaking, that is. Kurt, please do the world a favor and stop my nervous monologuing because this is beginning to look like a bad skit, as if it didn't already considering that I am wearing a pair of cutoff jeans and you're wearing a suit and a pink silk tie."

"Oh for goodness' sake!" Kurt said with a laugh, shaking his head as he linked arms with Dave. "I'm surprised they even let you in here, silly boy. I'm fairly sure that cutoff denim is not dress code for a place that serves water in wine glasses."

"While our coachers have about as much respect for us as they do the piece of shit on their shoe, the general population still allots us some level of individual worth," Dave said dryly, smiling down at the smaller man. "If I can't get in the Platinum Club at a football stadium then I should just give up and get a job at McDonald's." He shook his head. "But don't be surprised if random people walk up and start talking to us like they're family—just smile and nod. When people pay fifty thousand dollars a year for seats at football games they get this strange idea that it makes them like a second cousin twice removed to every player on every damn team. Even the big black guys with tattoos and dreads who speak in a language they don't understand."

"What? An African language?" Kurt questioned, a little confused. He hadn't really thought about international players…

Dave snorted. "No. I-Grew-Up-On-Less-Than-12k-a-Year-ese."

Kurt laughed at that, then smiled as the maitre de gestured for them to follow him off to a little two person table in the corner overlooking that wide expanse of unnaturally green grass below.

Dave paused before the table, glancing over at Kurt a little nervously. He smiled. Really, he was kind of cute absolutely out of his comfort zone.

"What is it, Dave?" Kurt prodded after a moment of watching the enormous man teeter back and forth from one foot to the other, studying the table as if it was some sort of complex puzzle.

"Uh, am I supposed to pull out your chair? Katie always makes me pull out her chair in places that have cloth on the tables. Though she usually does it after I've already sat down so it might just be an attempt to make me look like a doofus. But then you're not a chick. Well, not literally anyway. I mean, I guess you could count as a sort of an honorary chick…"

Kurt had to cover his mouth with one hand to hide his laughter. "It's okay, David. I can pull out my own chair."

"Really?" The huge man relaxed visibly. "Good. That's good. 'Cause it's always kind of weird and sometimes I push too hard and shove her boobs into the table. Not that you would have that problem, of course… I'm babbling again, aren't I?"

When you took his Neaderthalism with a grain of salt, the hulking giant was really kind of adorable. Like a little boy almost. A very, very handsome little boy, anyway. It was kind of nice. Going out to a fancy place with Blaine was always a little stressful. After all, what was dinner without a silent contest over who could seem the most upscale?

Kurt patted Dave's arm comfortingly as he moved around him, tugging out one of the chairs and gesturing toward it with a little flourish. "Would you like to have a seat, David?"

The other man blinked, then chuckled, switching the nervous mask that he'd been wearing since they had parted ways with the others outside the stadium with an open grin. Kurt couldn't resist smiling back. It was just so bright and uncontrolled—no worries about whether or not something was in his teeth or if it would look good in a headshot. It was kind of hunky, actually, that relaxed smile. You didn't see those much amongst the thespian types. They tended to smile so hard it looked like they might be passing a gall stone, or else just frown ambivalently in an attempt to seem suave.

"Uh, thank you, sir," Dave said as he kind of plopped himself down in the chair, which wobbled a little at his weight.

Kurt giggled as he tried to push him forward. "I'm afraid that you're going to have to give me a little help here, darling. The closest I come to bench pressing is grabbing up designer shoes at Nordstrom's."

Dave grinned up at him and scooted his chair forward. "Yeah, I'm probably a little out of your range."

"So," Kurt said conversationally as he moved around the table to sit daintily in his own seat, "what's good here?"

Dave snorted. "Uh, the nachos at the concession stands? With a chili dog to top it off? I don't usually wine and dine before a game." He glanced over, smiling a little uncertainly as a waiter wearing a rather heavily starched shirt approached, offering them their menus, already opened to the entree section. Kurt had to hold back a laugh as Dave just about dropped the thick, leather bound menu when he took it just by one side and it flipped totally open, nearly knocking his water glass over.

It was funny how things that would have made him curl his lip in disgust just a couple of days ago now just seemed so, well, *cute.* Cute Dave. An interesting combination that left Kurt unsure whether he wanted to pat the man on the head like a puppy or squeeze that bulging arm muscle. Rawr. Okay, that was off topic. Time to concentrate on the menu.

Kurt cleared his throat, tearing his gaze away from the eye candy sitting across from him with an uncomfortable look on his face, and mulling over the menu. It had a nice selection of items, especially considering it was inside of a stadium. After a few minutes he set his menu aside and rested his hands on the table, smiling at Dave who was still staring down at the menu like it was written in Japanese. Or maybe I-Was-Raised-On-More-Than-100k-a-Year-ese.

"You ready?" he asked finally, a little amused by the concentrated effort Dave was putting into reading the menu.

He looked up sharply, blinking as he glanced over at the waiter, who was hovering nearby. "Hm? Uh, yeah… I guess…"

Kurt subtly motioned for the waiter, flashing him a big smile. "I'll have the vegetarian ziti, please." He glanced back over at Dave, raising an eyebrow as the other man continued to stare at the menu. "...Dave? ...Dave?" Kurt gave him a light kick under the table and he jumped, looking sort of embarrassed.

"Um, can I just, like, go get something from the concession stand and bring it in?"

Kurt tried to hold the laughter back. He really did. He just wasn't very successful, and he felt a little guilty when Dave blushed and dropped the menu.

"I'll just have whatever he's getting," he murmured and Kurt shook his head, reaching out to pat the other man's hand.

"Oh, don't be silly." He looked back to the waiter. "Don't listen to him. Just run out and get him nachos and a hotdog, would you? We wouldn't want our Cowboy to go hungry before the game!"

The waiter frowned, shutting his little book. "Um, I'm not sure we can do that…"

Kurt sniffed and waved a hand in the air. "It's a one minute walk to the concession stand. Considering that I could buy an entire bottle of wine for what you're charging for a glass here, I think that you can afford the effort. And while we're on the subject of drinks, I'll take a frozen margarita, too. Classic." As long as he was going to be hanging out with the commoners he might as well get something that tasted good. God knew he'd had enough nasty tasting wine on his dates with Blaine.

Dave ducked his head slightly, still looking embarrassed. "Uh, yeah. What he said. That's my new answer to everything. 'What he said.'"

The waiter stood there for a moment, looking like he was teetering on the edge of laughter, then shook his head, smiling. "Um, okay, I'll see what I can do…" He glanced around behind him then knelt down a little. "And in the meantime, you think you could sign something for me, Karofsky? You know, you're awesome, man. That touchdown play at the Redskins game? Beautiful."

"Um, thanks man."

"Though you totally should have been blocking better last Sunday. How many times did the quarterback get sacked?"

"Er, several."

"Yeah, that was crazy."

Kurt chuckled as Dave quickly signed a scrap of paper for the man, more of a 'D' and a 'K' than his actual name. He shook his head, watching as the waiter headed off. "They really do think they're your buddies, don't they?"

Dave shrugged, flashing him a half-grin. "He's the twelfth man-always there if we need an extra man on the field. They're all the twelfth man. Part of the team, at least that's what they think. But, hey, where would we be without the fans? That's what makes the game. No point being snobbish about it. We have jobs because they love football. Otherwise I'd probably be hosing down your septic tank."

"I dunno… I think you might have been able to pull off managing a rendering plant."

Dave grimaced. "Please don't talk about that. Don't forget—Sue sent us football boys to a slaughterhouse last time we tried to 'reunite' or whatever. And, of course, Puckerman sent Hudson marching into a room full of horse parts. The kid screamed for two hours."

Kurt gave a choked laugh. "Oh, dear God."

Dave tossed him a grin and grabbed the bread from the basket the waiter had left, tearing off a piece and stuffing it in his mouth. "Yeah, it wasn't pretty. Here, catch." He tossed the bread in Kurt's general direction, causing him to shriek as he nearly caught it and then dropped it into his water glass.

"David!"

He grinned. "Hey, gotta prove that I have *some* skills you don't. I totally would have caught that."

Kurt laughed, shaking his head. It was strange just how adorable he was finding Dave when just yesterday he had been ripping apart every thing he said and commenting cruelly upon his caveman-like social skills. Okay, yeah, carrying a woman over your shoulder *was* kind of Neanderthal-ish, but the man hadn't really done anything all that offensive. He hadn't actually done anything offensive at *all* if Kurt had just taken the man's foot-in-mouth moments with a grain of salt. He frowned a little.

Was that true? If Dave had been a stranger would he have upset Kurt at all? Maybe he would have rolled his eyes a little at the other man's manners—or lack thereof—but he did that with the manners of quite a few people he held near and dear, including his dad and his step-brother. Of course, his dad and his brother hadn't *tormented* him as a child—

Kurt halted that thought abruptly. How long, exactly, was he planning to hold that over Dave? Hell, Finn hadn't exactly been all nice and sweet to him, at least not until sophomore year. Before that he'd tossed him in the Dumpster everyday. Of course, Finn wasn't the brightest Crayola in the box, but still… Would *he* want to be judged entirely on what he'd been like in high school? He may not have been a bully but he was pretty sure he'd made Rachel cry at least a couple of times after making a few choice comments regarding her sweaters. For God's sake, it had been ten years. If you couldn't forgive someone ten years later for the things they'd done back in the days of acne breakouts and hormonal induced insanity… that was just kind of sad. And he was many things, but he was *not* sad. Bitchy, prissy, and full of himself, perhaps. But not so full of himself that he couldn't see beyond his own damn nose, unlike certain people who travelled an hour to the local teacher's supply store every weekend just to pick up another batch of gold stars.

"I'm an asshole."

The water that Dave had just sipped apparently decided that it didn't want to go down because he began to cough, eyes widening slightly. "Excuse me?"

Kurt shrugged, hiding a smile. "I'm an asshole."

Dave opened his mouth, cocked his head to the side, then shut it again, narrowing his eyes slightly. "Okay, just to make it clear: Me being gay does *not* mean that I know how to respond to *that* any better than the average straight guy can handle a swift 'does this dress make me look fat?' to the gut." He paused, seeming to consider his words for a moment, then winced. "Not that your outfit makes you look fat! Just an example…" He trailed off, face reddening. "Okay, I'm gonna stop now because if I continue I think your designer shoes just may find their way between my legs and I haven't put on my cup yet."

Kurt let out a laugh, shaking his head at the other man. "Don't worry, it's not a loaded question. I've been an asshole the last couple of days. From the second I laid eyes on you in Breadstix I've been looking for ways to be pissed off at you. You haven't done anything but be friendly—if occasionally stupid—and I've been calling you a Neanderthal or a caveman or whatever just because you're different from me and because we had some… bad history. Which is not really fair considering that I wasn't exactly an angel to you back then, either."

Dave licked his lips nervously, rubbing at the back of his neck. "Nah, man, I was a schmuck. Even when I wasn't trying to be."

"Yes, well, I'm pretty sure I remember calling you 'hamhock' a few times in there, and I think that 'imbecile' might have slipped past my lips once or twice or a thousand times."

"Yeah, well, I'd say you were kinda spot on there," he replied with a good natured smile, shrugging.

"David, I seriously doubt you're an imbecile," Kurt said, carefully buttering a piece of bread. "No matter how much politesse you are lacking. I don't even think my brother is an imbecile, and he still insists on having his birthday parties at a roller rink so that he can do the Macarena on roller skates."

"Okay, well, maybe I'm just an imbecile when it comes to dating, then," Dave said with a laugh. "I'm telling you, going to one of the most hippie football colleges in the nation saved my butt. At least I could just go to a gay bar and get laid. Wining and dining is not really my forte."

Kurt smiled, resisting the urge to reach out and pinch that cute, chubby cheek. The cheek on his face. *Not* the other one. Okay, time for a Thought Redirection. Exit pants, return to upstairs brain. "I don't know, I think you're doing a pretty good job today." His lip twitched in amusement. "You at least offered to pull out my chair."

David laughed. "And you ordered my meal for me. From the concession stand, even."

"I'm not sure I could afford to feed you from this menu the way you eat, big boy!" Kurt smiled at him, then frowned at the embarrassed look that passed over Dave's face. He was only teasing…

"Yeah… I know it's hard to believe, but I don't always just stuff anything digestible in my mouth." He sounded a little defensive. "I just kind of eat when I'm nervous. Or upset. Or, hell, anything but cool and collected. And this trip hasn't exactly been the most stress free endeavor." He shrugged. "I guess I'm just lucky that I have a job that depends on me working out 24/7. Otherwise I'd probably have a butt so big it could have its own zip code. Not that it's not big enough as it is."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. He actually thought it was a rather nice butt. If it was wide it was only because Dave had wide hips—there was definitely not anything flabby about that tight end. Ha. Tight end. That was his position, wasn't it? Kurt held back a laugh. Okay, he *really* needed to get his thoughts back on track.

"Mercedes does that too, sometimes. Seriously, when Sue took away the tots at school that time, she just lost it!"

Dave grinned. "Oh, man, me too! But at least they still had the tacos, even if Sue did take out all the meat. There's nothing like the crunch of a taco shell to make me smile!"

And a nice smile it was. Kurt grinned back. "So what else makes you smile, David?"

The other man paused as he visibly tried to switch tracks. "Huh?"

Kurt laughed. "What else—besides tots and tacos, as delicious a gourmet meal as that sounds—makes you smile?" He grinned then shrugged at the look on the other man's face. "Think of this as a course on wining and dining. Only replace the wine with margaritas because, in all honesty, as common as it may seem, I like them better than wince. The first non-threatening, partner encouraging activity one tends to partake in is idle chit chat. Totally useless, but a good excuse to stare at your date's lips without looking like you're considering them for a Chapstick commercial." He raised an eyebrow. "Though I must say, your biceps do a good job of distracting me from your lips, which is quite impressive considering I find the way you tongue your cheek when you're nervous quite attractive. How much *do* you lift?"

Dave let out a huff of laughter, began to tongue his cheek, then pointedly stopped, looking a little uncomfortable. "Um, three-twenty."

Kurt raised an eyebrow. "Wow. You could bench press me all day."

Dave grinned at that. "Would it be against the rules of Miss Manners to make a crude joke right now?"

"Absolutely!" Kurt replied with a huff, sticking his nose in the air for a moment before he leaned forward, smirking. "But that's okay—I think I can figure it out for myself.

"Aw, are my jokes *that* obvious?"

"No, I just have a dirty mind." Kurt smiled. "So, really, what *do* you like besides food and football?"

Dave chuckled. "Um, probably nothing that would interest you at all."

"You might be surprised. What's that song about liking 'Breakfast at Tiffany's'? And how that's one thing that they have in common?"

"Uh, never actually saw 'Breakfast at Tiffany's.' Or heard that song."

"Hm…" Kurt tapped his fingers on the table. "Weeell, I like Monty Python movies."

Dave blinked, then laughed. "I guess *that's* one thing that we have in common. I would have thought of you more as the indie art movie type."

"Well, I was," Kurt said seriously, leaning in as if telling a secret. "Though, truthfully, I just liked the heavy emphasis on what indie directors call the 'artistic aesthetics of the human form' and I call 'a bunch of naked guys.' But I kept that info on the down low. Didn't want anyone to think that I was anything short of an art snob! *Then* I went to see Spamalot and was hooked forever."

"Spamalot?" Dave asked, sounding amused.

"The musical version of 'Monty Python and the Search for the Holy Grail.'" He laughed. "'_His name is Lancelot, he likes to prance a lot, dance a lot, and sing! Who would ever have thought that this outrageous foe would bat for the other team?_'"

Dave chuckled. "Oh my God, that's classic. Right up there with '_Bravely bold Sir Robin rode forth from Camelot!_'"

"'_He was not afraid to die, oh brave Sir Robin!_'"

"'_He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways!_'"

"'_Brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Robin!'_"

They both cracked up, and Dave was still wiping the tears of laughter from his eyes as the waiter came up, balancing two margaritas on his tray.

"I have arranged with the… concession stand… for your nachos and chili dog, sir," he said politely, looking like he was having to work double time just to keep a straight face.

"Thank you so much," Kurt said with a big smile, reaching out to rest a hand on the man's wrist. "You are a doll."

Dave smirked as the waiter stared down at Kurt with wide eyes. "Don't worry, kid. That's a compliment."

Kurt shot him a glare, kicking him under the table again, and Dave made a little whimpering sound, sticking out his lower lip as he pouted.

"You are such a silly head," Kurt said as he rolled his eyes.

"Dude… did you just call me a silly head?"

Kurt smirked and took a sip of his margarita. "Well, it's what you are!"

"I'm a silly head." Dave laughed. "Ooookay. Should I be offended or proud of that?"

"Well, new experiences are always good, and I've never been on a date with a silly head before, so I suppose it's a good thing." It certainly was a cute thing, anyway. He smiled at Dave who blushed slightly, dropping his eyes.

"Uh, yeah, well, I mean, it isn't like this is really a date…"

Kurt held back a snort. If this wasn't a date then he didn't know what it was. They'd been flirting since Dave had offered to pull out his chair. "Really? Because it seems rather date-like to me. Despite the fact that you are wearing cut off denim."

Dave raised his eyes then dropped them back down to his margarita glass, staring into it like maybe it held the answers to the world. "Well, I mean, since you're with Blaine and all. I mean, going back to live with him and all."

Right. Blaine. Couldn't forget Blaine. And who would want to forget Blaine? He was wonderful. But, God, it had been a long time since they had been together. And an even longer time since they had been happy together. He wasn't entirely sure he could *remember* the last time they'd gone out and just had a good time, no stress. Not that he didn't adore Blaine. It just… took so much *work*, being with Blaine. It was nice to just… relax.

Kurt shifted in his seat, a little uncomfortable. "Blaine and I have been apart for a long time, David… I mean, you're right. This isn't like, a *date* date, I guess. Because I do love Blaine. But I… just…" He shook his head. But what? What was he doing? He loved Blaine and here he was flirting with Dave Karofsky—God help him—like he hadn't already started making plans to move back in with Blaine. What was he thinking? Really, since when did silly head puppy dog eyes and big biceps make him lose his mind?

There was a somewhat awkward silence where they just sort of looked at each other then Dave spoke up, smiling in a kind of forced way. "Blaine's a good guy. I, uh, talked to him at the hotel last night. He really cares about you."

And yet managed to go for *years* with no more than a text a month just to let Kurt know he was alive.

Kurt forced his own smile. "Yeah. I'm sure he does. I just hope I'll fit in with this grand new life he's starting."

Dave looked down again and began to play with his napkin, seeming sort of unsettled. Kurt frowned. What was wrong with him?

"You… you shouldn't worry about that. Hell, I bet all that famous-rich stuff isn't even set in stone yet." He laughed, sounding nervous. "God knows that *I* never count on anything. Hell, I could be out the next game. All it takes is one bad fall."

"Well," Kurt said dryly, "there isn't quite as much physical danger to cutting a record."

Dave chuckled. "Yeah… but still, fame is a fleeting thing, right? I mean, when I was getting drafted for the NFL, I couldn't sleep for a week. And I was one of the lucky ones. I mean, I'd been nominated for a Heisman, which is rare for a tight end, so I was a top pick and got taken in the first round on a five year, 18 million dollar contract. But some of my buddies weren't drafted 'til later rounds, even though they are awesome players. My boy Joey is backup to the backup of the quarterback for the Redskins. Hasn't even played a game yet, in two years. He's an amazing player—was a huge star in college—but he's a rookie compared to the guys they got." He shook his head, laughing. "We go onto that field knowing that if we play like shit, we could be off the team next week. I bet Hollywood's a lot like that. Here today, gone tomorrow or whatever."

Kurt smiled. "Well, it is a tough game, I can tell you that."

Dave shrugged and flashed him a smile as he continued to play with his napkin. "Yeah." He cleared his throat. "But, anyway, I think you and Blaine will be happy together."

Kurt smiled back, though he really didn't feel like it for some reason. "I hope so." He watched as Dave scraped some of the salt off of the rim of his glass then stuck that big finger into his mouth, sucking on it. Wow… that was… something. Something very, very distracting. He blinked. What had he been talking about? Oh, right. Blaine.

"We just… had some tough times in there. Blaine is just so amazing, you know? So talented. And, obviously, I love that about him. But at the same time… at the same time I kinda wonder what he has that I don't."

Dave rolled his eyes. "Why do you even worry about that crap, Kurt? Blaine doesn't have anything that you don't." He smirked. "Except maybe a strange obsession with using glue to style his hair."

Kurt laughed. "He's just the one everybody notices, you know? The one who's on everybody's A-list, that everybody wants to know."

"Kurt," Dave said flatly, "you light up a damn room when you enter. You don't notice 'cause you just figure that the lights were already on before you stepped through the door. But truthfully? The disco ball follows you, Fancy. We're all just sittin' around with one of those little keychain flashlights, then you walk in and it takes ten minutes for our eyes to adjust. Blaine only seems so shiny because he's reflecting your light—which he damn well knows, so don't think he doesn't. Seriously, I have seen *stadium* lights that would be blinded by you. And you don't gotta be famous or whatever to shine. It's just how you are. It's how you were in high school and it's how you are right here, today. Me, Blaine, even that Rachel chick—we gotta work to shine. I run five miles a day, Blaine spends three hours in front of a bathroom mirror, and Berry sticks a gold star next to her name like that actually means shit. You just kinda mosey through the door and we're all putting our sunglasses on." Dave laughed, shaking his head. "Why do you think I harassed you so much? Every time I turned around you were glowing like someone had turned a damn spotlight on, and all I really wanted to do was, like, stare at you for hours. Not a very manly line of thought and *definitely* not something I wanted to share with Az or Noah or Finn."

Kurt's cheeks grew warm and he glanced away from that relaxed, honest gaze. "Yeah, well, for someone so bright I sure get out shone a lot."

Dave made a very rude noise, causing Kurt to shoot him a Look. "Seriously, considering how full of yourself you are, you're really dense sometimes. Who do you think people look at when you walk in a room? Blaine? Yeah, he's handsome, tall, well built. Very attractive. I wouldn't mind humping him on a dance floor. But would I bother to get his number? Probably not. Remember his name in the morning? *Definitely* not." He grinned. "But you? Would I get your number? HELL, no. I'd be too scared to walk up to someone like you and make a big fool out of myself. What would I say? Would you think I was stupid? Ugly? Fat?" Dave laughed. "But would I remember your name in the morning? Yeah, if you bothered to tell me what it was before you blew me off and went out with some slick, handsome dude like Blaine."

Kurt shook his head in disbelief. "You know, while we're talking about guys who don't know their own light, you're not exactly at the bottom of the handsome scale yourself, Karofsky. I don't know why you think guys like Blaine are such a catch. You really think you're the sort that someone tosses back?"

"Hey, I never claimed to be nothing more than a sweaty, chubby hamhock," Dave said with amusement, holding up his hands.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "You know, when I called you those things I was *trying* to piss you off, David. I didn't actually mean for you to take them to heart for the rest of your life."

Dave laughed, waving the words away. "Hey, I deserved whatever you called me."

"Maybe," Kurt said doubtfully. "But I still shouldn't have said stuff like that to you. The fact that you were an asshole to me didn't give me free rein to be an asshole back."

"Really?" Dave questioned, eyebrow raised. "Cause that is totally *not* what the Guy Code states."

Kurt smiled. "I think we all know that I suck at interpreting the Guy Code. But I'll introduce you to the Girl Code sometime. It's hardcore. Girls may not punch you in the face, but they are *vicious.*"

Dave laughed. "Dude, my best bud is a cheerleader. I *know*."

"She a backstabber?" Kurt asked with a smirk.

Dave rolled his eyes. "Only when it comes to me waxing my chest." He shivered. "I can never pick 'Dare' in Truth or Dare again. God, she is evil."

"Oh, it's not that bad!" Kurt said with a giggle. "It's just hair!"

"I seriously doubt you have as much chest hair as I do," Dav replied solemnly. "I know you've got less chest. So speak not unless you have felt the full extent of my agony."

"Dave," Kurt said, amused, "I wax my balls. I think I win."

The other man's eyes widened and he winced visibly. "Uh, yeah, okay. You win."

Kurt smiled primly. "That's what I thought."

"Sirs, I have your food."

Kurt held back a laugh at the wide grin that spread across Dave's face as the waiter dropped an enormous cardboard container of nachos and a chili dog the size of Kurt's forearm in front of him.

"Is there anything else that I can get you?" the waiter asked as he set down Kurt's carefully arranged platter of ziti.

"No, I think we're fine," Kurt said, shaking his head as he watched Dave stuff the chili dog into his mouth.

"Mmhm, mm gwood."

Kurt smirked. "Yeah, that's a thumbs up."

The waiter laughed and moved away as Kurt dug into his pasta, tossing another smile at Dave. Really, this whole little madhouse adventure had turned out to be a lot more fun than he had expected.

Kurt couldn't actually remember a time that he'd felt more relaxed outside his own home. Dates, no matter who they were with, were usually a strictly choreographed danced of I Do This and in return You Do That, an intricate ballet of who should say what and when in order to craft the perfect atmosphere of dignified politesse and mature sensibilities. Just sitting there cracking stupid jokes and watching Dave act like an oaf was really kind of fun. He had always dated men more like himself—highly artistic and very driven. Dave was just… something else. Laid Back. He might stick his foot in his mouth every two seconds but at least Kurt didn't have to worry much about what to say. Dave just didn't need impressing, and not even because he was a Neanderthal. Just because he didn't really seem to care whether or not Kurt tried. He was very… accepting, which was strange considering what a small minded teen he had been. Of course, Kurt had been pretty small minded in his own way, too. He had been so fixated on hating Dave for the way he treated him that he hadn't even stopped to think that, just maybe, what the bullying boy had really needed was a friend, not another enemy. A friend like Kurt.

"Do you think it would have helped if I'd talked to you?" Kurt asked suddenly, studying the man across from him.

Dave looked up from his meal, brow furrowed in confusion. "Talked to me about what?"

Kurt shrugged. "Anything. That time in the locker room. Just… about life. Did I mess it up? Should I have come up to you, when you got all weird about the kiss? Should I have tried to talk to you—not in the middle of the hall, obviously—instead of calling you names and running away? Would it have made a difference?"

The other man took a deep breath, leaning back away from the table a little bit, his tongue flicking out nervously. God that was cute. Like tongue porn.

"Kurt… you did the best you could. I don't know how I would have reacted if you had tried to talk to me alone. I was very confused. More confused than you know. I might have hurt you. I had sort of lumped all of my problems with my sexuality together and stuck a picture of your face on it. I mean, I never really wanted to hurt you—I just kind of wanted to intimidate you away, if that makes any sense. I know you saw me as, like, super violent. But I really wasn't. A bully, yeah. Out to really, honestly hurt anybody, no. I was really messed up, though, so I don't know what I might have done if you had tried to confront me. I know that I tried to hurt myself, thinking that if I just hurt myself then it would solve all my problems." Those big shoulders shrugged. "I figured I wouldn't have to deal with all that shit anymore and no one else would get hurt. At least until I got a big smack in the face informing me that hurting myself *did* mean hurting other people. Or, actually, it was a *kick* in my face with Azimio's oversized Nike, after he finished screaming at me for an hour." He sighed. "We can't go back and change things that happened. History's over. Maybe you reaching out to me would have helped, or maybe I would have lashed out in anger. It doesn't really matter now, though, because we'll never know. But I appreciate you asking. It's always… nice… to know people care." Dave chuckled darkly. "Especially when so many people out there don't seem to give a fuck."

Kurt frowned deeply, not liking what he was hearing. "What do you mean, you tried to hurt yourself?"

Dave stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter now, Kurt. It was a long time ago. I moved on. My friends moved on. My family… well, my dad and I still aren't on the greatest of terms, but at least I'm welcome for Christmas." He picked up another nacho, chewing on it as he gazed at nothing. "I think I was jealous of you, Kurt. I mean, I wasn't thinking about it that clearly, but I just remember feeling this overwhelming bitterness when I would see everybody cheering as you danced around covered in glitter, making love to a rainbow Care Bear, and yet at the same time knowing that if *I* said Drew Brees was hot everybody would look at me like I'd lost my mind." He met Kurt's eyes again, smiling and shrugging. "The point is, you did help me, even if we weren't friends. I…" His face reddened slightly and he ducked his head. "I had a picture of you that I tore out of the yearbook. I stuck it in my locker when I was playing for the Longhorns. And when I was drafted into the Pros, it came with me in my little cardboard box of locker stuff." He laughed. "I remember freshman year the quarterback walked up behind me and asked if it was true what my frat boys were saying, that I liked dudes. I just looked at that picture, then back at him, and nodded and asked him if that was a problem. He just shook his head and said that his sister was gonna *love* this."

Kurt laughed. "His *sister*?"

Dave smirked. "Head of the campus PFLAG group. I think I walked in about a billion pride parades—and I don't even *like* pride parades. Way too much purple for my senses. But Austin's kind of a hippie town. *Lots* of gay pride shit to be found." He shrugged. "But when I needed courage, I always looked at that picture."

"Wow," Kurt said quietly, a little taken aback. "That's… a lot to live up to." He gave a little huff of laughter. "How am I doing?"

Dave grinned. "Not *too* bad. But I'll rate you higher if you'll have sex on the floor with me right now."

Kurt nodded knowingly. "Yeah, that always adds a few points onto my scale, too."

"I get a point for my abs, right? Not all of us are naturals like Chang! I worked for these babies!" He gestured vaguely toward his chest, laughing.

Kurt flashed a smile. "Oh, definitely! And you even get another point just for those big arms of yours. I think they could swallow me whole!"

"I should get a politeness point for not responding to *that* comment in the way I really want to," Dave shot back, grinning. "Swallow you whole? Ha."

"Oh, such a bad boy! But that's okay—I like my boys bad. And I *will* give you a point for your failed attempt at producing manners. The puppy dog eyes and the cute round face get you one, too."

"I think that point is probably offset by my cut off shorts, though," Dave said, feigning sadness.

Kurt laughed. "Yes, indeed. But don't worry—just the way you look in football pants wins you a clothing point, so you are tied with all the fashionless men out there who refuse to wear bow ties."

"Oh, Fancy, you're just gonna have to accept that you have to be a special kind of man to pull off a bow tie!"

"And what kind of man is that?" Kurt asked with a raised brow.

"Either Kurt Hummel or Pee Wee Herman."

Kurt burst into laughter. "Oh, God, you are *so* bad. Comparing me to Pee Wee Herman?"

Dave grinned. "Does this mean I get another bad boy point?"

Kurt snorted. "Only one bad boy point per bad boy. And you get another point off for your eating habits."

"Aw, c'mon!" Dave said, pouting in a rather adorable way. He really was like a very, very, very handsome little boy sometimes. "You can't knock it 'til you've tried it!" He pushed the container of nachos toward Kurt with a grin, causing the smaller man to wrinkle up his nose in distaste. There was no place to even grab a chip that wasn't covered in chili and cheese.

"I don't think so. Not really my thing."

"Uh-uh! You cannot review the cuisine until you've tasted it!"

Kurt chuckled. "Okay, okay!" he reached out, biting his lip as he tried to figure out a way to pick up a chip without destroying his manicure. After a moment Dave rolled his eyes and just picked up one of the chips, holding it out for Kurt to bite.

"Just eat. You don't have to touch. Just eat."

Kurt couldn't help but giggle at the sheer absurdity of eating a dripping, cheesy chip from Dave's fingers. Oh, what the hell. Might as well live a little before he returned to the land of fine dining where using less than four different forks in one meal was considered obscene. He opened his mouth and ate the chip, licking at the chili on his lips. Hm… that was pretty good. Really. Frighteningly good.

"Wow. That… actually wasn't bad."

Dave sat back with a satisfied smirk. "You liked it."

Kurt scowled. "I didn't say that!"

"But you diiiiid! I can teeeell!"

Kurt laughed. "Okay, okay, I liked it! Though it's just clogged arteries waiting to happen."

Dave chuckled and grabbed another chip. "Cheap and tasty. Two of my favorite things."

"Wow, there is yet another naughty joke waiting to happen," Kurt said with a smile as the waiter set down two more margaritas. "Thank you."

Dave glanced at his watch, then grabbed the waiter's arm before he could walk off. "Hey, man, can we go ahead and get the check?" He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and handing a credit card to the waiter. He smiled apologetically at Kurt. "I have to get to practice in an hour."

Kurt frowned, reaching forward to pluck the card away from the waiter. "I'm paying for this meal, remember?"

"Aw, I don't mind. I'm the one who brought you to the overpriced diner here. And they probably charged us the price of a steak for that chili dog." He smiled. "I know that teachers are very underpaid, especially those that have to work with Sue Sylvester, God bless your souls."

Kurt sniffed. "I'm doing fine." He smiled. "But I won't be making 18 million in five years anytime soon, so if you really want to pay then I won't fight it." He laughed. "A true date."

Dave looked uncomfortable again. "Ah, not that this is really… I mean, it's… We were just having lunch. Cause of that bet. Or whatever."

Kurt's brow furrowed slightly. Did Dave not *want* it to be a date? Because he really *was* bad at dating if he thought this had just been lunch. Mixed signals was an understatement. He would definitely never have eaten a chip from Puck's hand. And not only because he knew damn well where that hand had been.

"Well, I'm glad we're even then," Kurt said primly, not caring that he sounded prissy. "Because heaven forbid we have lunch together just for the fun of it."

Dave flushed. "I didn't mean… I just meant that—dammit!" He sighed. "Look, I just don't want to hurt your, y'know, thing with Blaine. I don't want you to be, like, cheating on him. Because of me. Or anything."

And there was Blaine again. When, exactly, had they become best buds? Last time he had checked, they were hardly speaking civilly to one another. Kurt scowled. "You know, Dave, I'm not sure we *are* even, considering that you manage to say something stupid enough that it should really earn you a smack on the head every five seconds. I am not cheating on anyone. I am just having lunch with someone I would *hope* considers himself my friend."

Dave rubbed at his forehead. "You're right. You're totally right. I'm sorry. God, I really suck at this dating stuff. Or not-dating stuff. Or just being in social situations without coming off as a doofus."

Kurt laughed at that, smiling as Dave took the check from the waiter. "Well, since you *are* a doofus, I can see how that would be difficult." He stood, reaching down to grab his bag.

Dave stood as well, smiling back. "With the way I stick my foot in my mouth? I'm not sure we'll ever be square."

"Well, there might be *one* way to even us out," Kurt said, a wicked little smile growing on his face.

Dave chuckled. "And what would that be?"

"You really want to know?" Kurt asked with a grin.

"Oh, yes," Dave said sagely. "Share with me, oh wise one, what can I do to earn the forgiveness of Obi Wan Kurtobi?"

"You really want to be even?"

Dave laughed. "Yeah, I wanna be even."

Kurt smirked. "Okay," he said sweetly as he leaned down and picked up his half-full glass of frozen margarita. A grin spread across his face as he swung the drink, almost in slow motion, at Dave, watching with amusement as his eyes grew wide and his mouth opened in disbelief.

"Oh my GOD! Dammit, Hummel!"

Kurt cracked up, almost doubling over in laughter as he watched the slush run down Dave's gaping face. "NOW we're even!" He leaned forward suddenly, tongue flicking out across Dave's lower lip, lapping up a bit of the margarita before he pulled away and turned on his heel, a huge smirk on his face as he left a stunned, slush covered Dave staring after him in disbelief.

Oh yeah. Totally even.


	11. Ch 11: Going For It

**IMPORTANT NOTE: **

** I WILL NO LONGER TOLERATE ANY WANK ON MY REVIEW PAGE. I GREATLY APPRECIATE POSITIVE FEEDBACK AND EVEN KIND CRITIQUE (I love you guys!) BUT DO NOT POST REVIEWS REGARDING YOUR POLITICAL BELIEFS OR ANY KIND OF SELF-RIGHTEOUS COMMENTS. THIS IS NOT FANFIC CRITIQUE, IT IS POLITICAL AND SOCIOLOGICAL DEBATE AND IT DOES NOT BELONG ON THIS SITE. **

**I WILL BE REPORTING THE REVIEWS OF ANYONE WHO USES MY REVIEW PAGE LIKE A FORUM AS WELL AS BLOCKING THEIR USER NAME AND REPORTING THEIR ACTIONS TO . I WILL ALSO BE INSTANTLY DELETING PEOPLE WHO POST THEIR WANK ANONYMOUSLY. **

**WANK (N): Obsessive shipping, self-righteous comments, or general hateful remarks on how *I* choose to write. Not everyone believes the same as you. You are entitled to your opinion, but a fanfic review page IS NOT THE FORUM FOR IT. Please take these posts elsewhere. Thank you.**

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**NOTE ON AZIMIO: **LOL. Okay, I did have a rant here about people thinking that I am racist 'cause I used the word 'black' when describing Azimio. But you know what? **I really hate wank. No, I'm not racist. I just don't think there's anything wrong with being black. And last time I checked, Mercedes was damn proud to be 'chocolate thunder.' **If you think it's racist to describe Azimio as black, well, *shrugs* call me racist and don't read the story. But please don't post on my reviews. I personally think it's racist to act like there's something wrong with being black. Why not describe him as black? Should he be ashamed? So whatever. If you find it offensive, don't read the story. Everyone is entitled to their opinion but this is not a place for wank so, please, just hit the 'x' in the corner.

**NOTE ON THE 'WHO DAT?' SAINTS JOKES: **Since some people have written me asking me to explain American football and probably some Americans don't WATCH football, I figured that I would explain why every time Dave and Azimio get uncomfortable they start saying 'Who dat?' The New Orleans Saints are an NFL football team and their chant is "Who dat? Who dat? Who dat say dey gonna beat dem Saints?" Yes, with all the 'd's instead of 't's. It's a New Orleans thing. That is why you will find me screaming 'WHO DAT?' every time a Saints game is on. Unless it's against the Cowboys, obviously. The Saints are my second favorite team. And their fans are so much fun! Dave and Azimio's favorite way to change a subject is to talk about the Saints. :)

**Chapter 11: Going For It**

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Kurt flipped the page idly, admiring the lithe basketball player's defined figure as he took a sip of his Cosmo. Who knew that Sports Illustrated would make for such good eye candy? Ah, it was nice to have a few moments of peace...

"OH YEAH!"

"BOO YAH!"

The tense silence Kurt had enjoyed for about ten seconds was broken once more as the box was filled with jumping and yelling or, in Artie's case, rolling and yelling. Kurt had no idea why they were excited, or why they had been on-and-off excited for the last hour and a half.

This stupid game stopped and started again *constantly.* It was like trying to teach choreography to someone with a peg leg. 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8 STEP, okay, stop. Go back. Okay. Now STEP!

He sighed and sipped his drink again. At least this obviously expensive and exclusive box had a good bar. And its own bartender, though he was just as caught up in the game as everyone else. What, exactly, was so exciting? They would go for, like, five seconds, then stop for, like, thirty. Everybody would line up like they were doing the cancan, squat like they were gonna take a shit in the woods or something, then just kind of fall on each other. Boom. Kurt couldn't even see the damn ball, all the dudes looked the same—they probably had to have their names sewn on the back of their shirts just so they could tell each other apart—and there never seemed to be any rhyme and *certainly* no reason to what they were doing.

Of course, why should he expect this game to be anything more than a bull fight with a ball tossed in? Coach Tanaka sure hadn't had anything deep to say during 'game planning' time. Every practice it was 'get it to the end of the field so we can go the hell home.' Hell, Finn had scored a goal for the other team when he'd run the wrong way. At least *then* Kurt had his iPhone to play with during the dreary game—he'd won a beautiful scarf off of eBay on Homecoming. And when it came time to 'play,' all he'd really had to do was dance. The kick at the end was just the big finish-cha cha cha!

But the other men in the box seemed to find the stop and go slam, bam, thank you ma'am *quite* interesting, and Katie too. She was actually standing on the bar screaming something that sounded totally nonsensical to Kurt-of course they were holding, weren't you *supposed* to hold the ball?-her teeth bared in a rather vicious way as someone on the field did… something… that caused everyone to cheer.

Blaine sat down next to him again, reaching over and placing a hand on Kurt's, a smile on his face that made Kurt wince inside. The man seemed to be on a quest to make Kurt get football and he didn't need a Holy Grail to get him started. Apparently if he was going to break the stereotype, then everybody had to follow his lead. Never mind that Kurt rather *liked* the stereotype. He would much rather be watching Project Runway with Mercedes and Tina than sitting around while a bunch of guys smacked heads.

Kurt sighed and set aside the magazine. He might as well give watching another try-with that stubborn look on Blaine's face, he wasn't likely to escape it. Maybe he could actually find Dave on the field this time. They just looked so tiny down there, like little little misshapen dolls with oversized shoulders and undersized hips, but a TV the size of his dad's house was showing the game so that didn't really matter. Why even come to a stadium if you were just going to watch a screen? Wasn't that what cable was *for*?

"Okay," Blaine said, gesturing toward the strange mating ritual unfolding on the field. "Now, this is third down, they have 9 yards to go. If they don't make it, they'll either have to kick the ball down the field for the other team to sort of catch and run with, or they will have to go for it."

"Go for what?" Kurt asked, frowning. He could go for a margarita and a good salsa beat right about now.

"That's what it's called. Going for it. It's a play where they'll line up on fourth down and try and make their yardage."

Wow. 'Going for it' was a football term? How did you look *that* up in a dictionary? Under 'go'? Or maybe 'for it, go'? Obviously this was not a game crafted by the geniuses of the world.

"For the millionth time," Kurt said, a little annoyance leaking into his voice, "it is a foreign language to me, Blaine. I think it's time to give up. I'm tired of going for it or whatever."

"No!" Blaine said, feigning a shocked looked then grinning brightly. "We can't just give up! This is an awesome game, Kurt! So exciting. Vicious and visceral!" He mimicked punching the air, a dopey smile on his face, and Kurt rolled his eyes.

"Vicious," he said dryly. "Wonderful. Because I never get my fill of vicious." He shook his head then scanned the field. "So, where's David?"

"He isn't on the field," Artie replied, eyes locked on the game even as he wheeled his chair right and left in a nervous little dance. "He's on the offense. Cleveland has the ball so the Dallas defense is on the field. But not for long!" He, and everybody else in the room who had wasted brain cells learning the rules of this inane game, burst into cheer as some enormous guy ran with the ball and, apparently, did not make it to wherever he was going.

The game stopped yet again while a bunch of guys did weird stuff (including kicking the ball practically out of the universe for no apparent reason whatsoever) and then they were back in the can-can line. Everybody high kick!

"Okay… so where's Dave now?" Kurt asked, trying to tell one white, padded butt from the next.

"There," Katie said, hopping down off the bar and moving over to Kurt, pointing in a direction that could have meant anyone, considering that they were tiny and all in a damn line. "Number 42."

Kurt blinked. That was Dave? How could that be Dave? Dave was bigger than that. The man was *enormous* after all. "Wow… he actually looks kind of small compared to the guys on the other team," Kurt said, eyes narrowing as he watched Dave do the weird squat-down-like-ya-gotta-poop thing, facing a bunch of guys that would have made King Kong cry.

"He's actually big for a tight end," Katie replied, not taking her eyes off the game.

Kurt was really getting tired of talking to people who couldn't stop watching a bunch of guys ram each other for five damn seconds to give him the gift of actually looking at him when they spoke. Too bad those big boys weren't ramming each other in a much *less* literal sense. Now *that* would have kept his attention.

"He's, what, three hundred pounds? Yeah, I'd say he's big."

Katie shook her head. "Uh-uh. For a tight end, yeah. 280 or so, almost 6'6". But compared to a defensive lineman… he's Pluto to Jupiter."

"Well, he does have a nice tight end," Kurt said, flashing a grin at, well, no one since everybody was watching the stupid game, causing his joke to fall flat. Oh well. He had the feeling that it was overused anyway.

"That's what I keep telling him but he never lets *me* play," Katie said in amusement, actually turning away from the game to pout. "Not even friends with benefits."

"I'm not sure you're his type," Kurt said with a grin.

Katie laughed. "Yeah, apparently my tits are a turn off. He gets all bitchy when I walk around the house naked."

"You can walk around my house naked anytime, pret-tay lady," Azimio said, snickering. Though fire and brimstone falling from the heavens didn't seem to be enough to distract Azimio from a game, the topic of naked women was apparently somehow able to catch his attention. Why was Kurt not surprised?

Not that he was one to talk. Kurt would take a handsome man in the buff over another episode of 'Say Yes to the Dress' any day, no matter how much he loved a designer wedding gown. He liked cock more. Screw PC. Any *honest* gay men would take penis over a dress any day, no matter how nice the bustle fell.

"Oh, shut up, Az. Baby puke and dirty diapers don't turn me on."

Azimio sighed dramatically, turning his attention back to the game. "Yo, that is just what my wife says. Totally not fair. The way she acts you'd think that stay at home dad ain't a real job. Let's see *her* take time away from *her* little career and spend her days sticking fake titties filled with milk in baby's mouth. Do you know how many favors I went through to get the Chief to give me maternity leave? Believe it or not, the Lima PD ain't up to snuff on the etiquette of gender equality or whatever the hell Linda was threatenin' to sue my fellow donut eaters with. And what do I gots to show for givin' up my badge for a year? Puke on my pants and a bed on the sofa 'cause I smell like baby crap. Seriously, I'ma buy dat baby some Pepto Bismol or *somethin'*."

"Maybe it's not the baby that's the problem," Kurt put in casually as he inspected his fingernails, smirking slightly. "Maybe your penis just has a bad attitude. I've heard that can really turn a woman off. And considering how often you think with your penis..."

Azimio blinked, then furrowed his brow. "Did you really just say dat my *penis* has a bad attitude? Really, dat's not fair, Hummel! You've never even met my penis! He is a very friendly and attractive penis! All the ladies love him! They be singin' 'Back In Black' every time I come around. Or come again!"

Kurt reached over and laid a gentle hand on Katie's face. "Darling, whatever you do, stay *away* from *that*," he said sagely. "Anytime a man begins to refer to his penis in the third person it is simply time to walk away."

Azimio smirked and opened his mouth but whatever pervertedness might have come out was cut off when the room suddenly erupted in insanity that included Puck pounding on his chest, Artie doing the handicap version of a disco dance, and Katie leaping into the air with amazing dexterity. Of course, she was a cheerleader. But still, that position looked more like something from the Kama Sutra than a move you'd find on the field. Sue definitely hadn't taught them *that* one.

Too bad. It would have been useful in bed.

"THAT'S MY BOY!"

"Oh, man, seriously, he needs to sign a billion jerseys for me. I will make a *fortune* on the E to the BAY to the DOT com, baby!"

Kurt sat up, frowning down at the field where the Guild of the Tight Pants were still milling around nonsensically. "What happened?"

Mike laughed and lightly punched Kurt on the shoulder, making him wince. When, exactly, had punching gone from 'bodily assault' to 'friendly gesture' and how the hell could Kurt switch it back? "He just ran it forty yards down the field into the red zone!"

The red zone, huh? Was there a green zone? A blue zone? A pink zone? He really wouldn't mind a pink zone. Seriously, it was like talking French to someone from Mexico City.

Puck grinned, wagging his eyebrows in an exaggerated way that was probably meant to be studly and came off looking like something that Uncle Jesse from Full House might do. How *did* that guy get laid? Maybe he had a nice leather jacket. That had done it for John Stamos. You didn't need to be smooth if you let your wardrobe talk for you. "Oh, yeah, it's good, man! Really good! We gonna SCORE!" He raised both arms in the air and made a weird sort of dance/chopping motion that kind of resembled a seizure.

Kurt set his drink aside and studied the field, trying to find Dave's jersey. Okay, there he was, hitting chests with some random dude. Hm. Now he just had to wait for the knuckles to start dragging the ground and he could declare he'd found the Missing Link. And to think scientists had wasted all that time looking in the depths of the jungle when it could be found every Sunday on NBC.

Dave jogged up to the line of sewage or rimmage or whatever the hell it was called and dropped down into the Gotta Shit Position. Kurt picked his drink back up, prepared to be bored. But at least he could honestly say he'd 'seen Dave play' now.

Kurt watched the figure sort of hunch his back and sway. This really would be much more interesting with a bit of dancing thrown in.

The clock counted down and—-

Dave was gone.

Okay… when had they invented teleportation and why hadn't anybody told him? Had he really ben wasting gas on money all this time? Kurt blinked and stood, trying to figure out how number 42 had just disappeared off the field.

"Oh, shit, that had to have hurt," Katie mumbled, shaking her head as she stared down at the field.

What hurt? Teleportation? Apparition? Maybe he had been splinched. Really, where the fuck was he? "Where did he go?" Kurt questioned, still confused.

"He's at the bottom of the pile," Artie replied, pointing to an enormous stack of Goliaths. "Look, watch the replay."

Kurt glanced up at the enormous screen, his eyes widening as he saw Dave move off to one side, the ball slip into his hands and then, out of yet another Nowhere, a guy who had to be almost seven feet tall took him from behind, sending him head first to the ground. In slow motion the side of his head nicked the ground and his helmet popped off—didn't they strap those things on?—and his eyes grew wide as his forehead continued on its course straight into the turf. Then, as if having one giant on you wasn't enough, three other enormous men landed on top of them, just bodily throwing themselves onto the already crushed Dave. Dear God.

Kurt put a hand to his chest as they replayed the shot again, heart pounding a little faster than normal. Why did they do this? This was really supposed to be a *game*? What did they craft their rulebook from, SunTzu's Art of War?

"Yikes," Puck said, wincing. "He's gonna feel that one tomorrow. And the next day. And the next."

"Seriously," Blaine muttered, moving toward the glass separating the box from the rest of the stadium, pressing his palms to it as he stared out at the field.

The guys on top of the pile began to climb off, helping each other up, but Dave just continued to lay there, not responding when one of the orange helmet guys offered him a hand up.

Kurt took a steadying breath as Dave's face flashed onto the screen, eyes closed, jaw slack, mouth guard hanging out, his helmet a yard away. He looked rag doll, just laying there. Was he okay? Why wasn't he moving? Was he even breathing? Did guys die a lot in football?

"Kinda brings up imaged of Sean Fretthold, doesn't it?" Finn said casually, taking a swig of his beer. "That's the kind of shit that just leaves you thinking, 'glad it's not me.'" He glanced over at Artie. "No offense, man."

Artie waved a hand. "Finn, Sean Fretthold makes *me* think 'glad it's not me.'"

Kurt glanced over sharply. "Who?" Nobody even looked his way, they just continued to eat their popcorn and drink their beers. What was he, goddamn invisible? Did the start of a football game just make everything else magically turn into air? As much as he liked an instant diet, he didn't want to disappear completely!

Screw this. He moved away from the shelter of his comfy chair and Cosmo over toward the boys huddled around a snack and drink filled table, grabbing the beer from Finn's hand and dropping it onto the floor, not caring when it gushed out onto the rug. This box looked pricey enough. They could clean up spilt beer. Messes were job security for janitors. "Who the hell is Sean… whatever?"

Finn frowned, scowling. "Hey, that was my beer!"

No shit, Sherlock.

"Who is that Sean guy, Finn?"

Finn shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. "Just a dude we used to, like, play football with. He got hurt."

"Guys go down all the time," Puck interrupted, shooting Finn a look. "Don't worry about it, Kurt. He'll be up and at 'em soon."

Kurt shook his head in annoyance. "Did someone hit the mute button? 'Cause *I* heard myself ask a question. Who is this Sean guy? How did he get hurt?"

Artie turned his chair around so that he was facing Kurt. "It was a freak accident, man. But, honestly, it kinda makes me grateful for how *my* accident went down." He crossed his arms over his chest turning his head to study the screen.

There were now several coaches and some sort of medical aid people crouching around Dave. A sick sort of feeling rose in Kurt's gut. "What do you mean?"

"He was kind of a star player, y'know?" Finn said, stuffing a handful of popcorn into his mouth. "We thought he could play college, maybe even the pros. But he took a hit on the field and was paralyzed. From the neck down."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. He was *paralyzed*? On the football field? What kind of game *paralyzed* people? Kurt abruptly pushed Finn out of his way and moved to the glass next to Blaine, staring down at the little group of people around Dave.

"Oh my God! Is he okay? Do you think he's okay? Will he be okay?"

A hand settled onto his shoulder, causing him to jerk a little as he looked back at Katie with wide eyes.

"Kurt, I'm sure he's fine. This sort of thing happens a lot."

It happened a lot? What the hell? "People get paralyzed?"

Her eyes widened slightly. "What? No, stupid! Guys get knocked out. That ground out there is harder than it looks and when a guy's head hits the ground, well… Concussions are common. Dave's had probably a dozen. Once he blacked out for half an hour. Troy Aikman once played with a concussion thinking that he was back in high school. He played great but when he finished up the quarter he thought his teammates were from his high school and that he was seventeen."

Kurt stared out at the field, shaking his head slowly, heart pounding, as he watched a couple of the coaches help Dave up. If you could call it 'up.' He was sort of hanging there between them. Okay, so he wasn't dead. Or paralyzed. Presumably, anyway, if they could get him to a semi-standing position. That was good. But was he… "Is he awake?" His voice came out sort of panicked, but he really didn't care. This was like a terrible joke. He just starts to like the guy and then he dies.

Katie shrugged and moved over to the bar, reaching up to turn up the small TV broadcasting the game.

_"And it looks like Karofsky is out of the game for now. He's awake, but I can't tell if he's aware. That was a pretty hard hit to the head. What do you think, Dan?"_

_"Well, Brian, I can't say much on his condition, but I do think that if it is at all possible to put him back in the game then they will. They have too many players out on injuries. They need Karofsky's ability to plow through the defense. This game is 7-7 and we're already in the beginning of the third quarter. Both defenses are putting up a good fight. The receivers are well covered and the Dallas offense really just needs a battering ram if they want to move the ball down the field. And if Karofsky is good at one thing, it's using those big shoulders to slam through a defense."_

_"You're right about that, Dan. It looks like they're taking him to the locker rooms for a medical check. Hopefully we'll be seeing Karofsky back out here before the quarter's over."_

The TV went to commercial and Kurt ran his hands nervously over his arms, glancing back to the field. They were actually talking about him coming back to play some more? He had barely been conscious! How could they want him back on the field? Really, these men were all like his father—they had no sense of how to care for themselves whatsoever! Dave would probably be dying to get back into the game. That is, if he wasn't *literally* dying, bleeding in the brain or something horrible. This was *insane*!

Blaine moved beside him and put an arm around his shoulders, squeezing.

"Hey, just relax, beautiful. Dave's a tough boy. He'll be fine."

Kurt shot him an annoyed look. "Yeah, I bet that's what they said about that Sean kid, too! How do you know he'll be fine?" He ducked out from under the other man's arm, causing Blaine to scowl. "Don't talk about things you don't have a clue about."

Blaine held up his hands, looking hurt. "Hey, I'm just trying to make you feel better!"

"I don't want to feel better," Kurt snapped back. "I want to know if Dave is okay!" And he did. He really, really did. But that's what friends did. They worried about each other. And if he was a little more worried about Dave than he would have expected, well, that just showed how quickly they'd become close.

Blaine stared at him for a moment then narrowed his eyes. "Wow, you're *real* worried about Dave, huh?"

Kurt gave a choked laugh. "Yeah, I'm real worried about Dave! He just had his head slammed into the ground by a caveman!"

"Would you have been so worried about Dave before you mounted that big," he paused dramatically, "*back*?"

Kurt didn't know whether to roll his eyes or scream. When the hell had Blaine become such a bitch? There was only room for one princess bitch in a relationship and Kurt had claimed *that* role long ago. "I didn't *know* Dave before this weekend, Blaine! But you know what? Every time you open your mouth I'm starting to like *you* a little *less*! At least Davis is willing to admit when he needs to take that big cleat and shove it into his hole! For all I've missed you, I've been nothing but tense and nervous as hell since you drove up in your pretty car. Hanging out with Dave is the only relaxation I've had since you showed up."

Blaine's jaw dropped and he made a sound of disbelief. "I should have *known* he was full of shit," he said, sounding like he was talking to himself. "He was courting you all along! 'I'll put in a good word for you' my ass. Yeah, he'll put in a good word for me in between giving you roses and quoting sonnets!"

"What the hell are you talking about, Blaine?" Kurt shot back. "Courting me? Have you lost your mind? You think that Dave Karofsky 'courts' people? He had a goddamn chili dog for lunch—at a four star restaurant!"

Blaine scowled. "Oh, please. The man is all over you. He may play dumb, but I know what he's after."

"Why are you such an jerk to Dave? He had nothing but good things to say about *you*. How we'd make such a good couple and how I shouldn't worry about the fame stuff, it would all work out?"

"He told you about that?" Blaine asked furiously, brow furrowed. "The asshole."

Kurt sniffed. "This is coming from *you*?"

"I can't believe he told you my recording contract fell through!"

A long silence. Kurt frowned. Told him that… what? "Your recording contract fell through?"

"You just said he told you!" Blaine shot back. "Mr. Understanding. Ha! I should have known he was full of shit."

What the hell was Blaine talking about? His recording contract fell through? "When did your recording contract fall through?"

Blaine laughed. "Last week. What, he didn't give you all the dirty details? I'm surprised. I would think a guy like him would to anything to beat down the competition."

Kurt stared at him in disbelief. "Wait… you lied to me?"

Blaine paused, eyes widening. "What, he didn't tell you?"

"Who didn't tell me?"

"Dave! You just said that he was talking about the famous thing…" he trailed off as Kurt's face began to redden, anger shooting through him.

"He said that I shouldn't worry about being with someone famous, that if we loved each other it would work out. I can't believe you *lied* to me!"

"Yo, dudes, hey!" Azimio broke in, ditching the Guy Table and moving up to them with a fake smile plastered across his face, his hands held out like he was offering a damn olive branch. "How 'bout a beer, huh?"

"That's not going to work, Azimio," Artie said idly, eyes still on the game. "We tried back in Glee when Kurt and Mercedes would go at it. They don't follow the Guy Code. They *want* to scream it out. Don't ask me why, but they *like* to talk about it."

Kurt shot Artie a glare then turned his attention back to Blaine as the other man grabbed his arm.

"I only lied to you because you were rolling around on the ground with fucking Karofsky! What was I supposed to do? Just stand there and smile, broke and jobless, while muscle man swept you off your damn feet?"

Azimio opened his mouth but Katie stepped up, waving him away. "Uh-uh. Artie's right, Azimio," she said flatly. "This is what girlfriends do between painting our toenails and stabbing each other in the back with metal nail files."

Kurt glowered. "Swept me off my…? I loved you, Blaine! And I *thought* you loved me! But if you were willing to *lie* to me just because you were jealous that I was becoming *friends* with David—"

"Friends? Friends? HA! Friends my ass. Friends don't let friends ride their backs, Kurt!"

"Uh, actually they do," Finn interjected. "I mean, I really don't wanna date Dave but I rode on his back…"

Kurt pointed at him. "See? Friends can ride friends, Blaine! And you may think I'm quite the player these days, but all Dave has gotten from me is a margarita slushie to the face!"

That comment made several of the guys choke on their drinks, but Blaine just laughed coldly. "They're *guys* Kurt. It's different."

"Oh, and I'm not a guy?" Kurt shot back, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because I wasn't aware that you liked *girls*, Blaine!"

"Oh please. You're about as much guy as DSW is designer!"

"You slushied Dave?" Finn questioned, sounding a little stunned.

"That's how you know you're loved," Kurt snapped back.

Azimio choked slightly. "So, dudes… I guess you don't like dem Saints… Uh, how 'bout dat Sandra Bullock, eh? Who dat dere think they gonna beat dat Sandra Bullock out of an Oscar?"

"Azimio, I seriously doubt they know the 'who dat dere' Saints line," Katie said, looking amused.

Kurt rolled his eyes. They really just needed to shut up. "You know what, Blaine? I don't know what I was thinking. For all that you told me to be courageous, I was just being a fucking coward. You were safe. I understood our relationship—or thought I did before I found out you were lying to me!—and you were everything I thought I was supposed to want. But you know what? I haven't been happy in *years* because of our screwed up little relationship!"

"Wow," Azimio said as he reached over the bar and shoved the bartender aside, grabbing a bottle of whiskey, popping off the top and chugging some back. "Dis is really, really uncomfortable. Can't we just not talk about it? Please?"

"Shut up, Azimio!" Kurt and Blaine said simultaneously, causing Kurt to glare at him. Who the hell did he think he was, saying the same thing as Kurt?

He took a deep breath, gritting his teeth as he looked Blaine up and down. Had he really spent all those years with this man? This desperate lying *asshole* who was too full of himself to even admit that he was a failure! Even fucking Rachel Berry was willing to broadcast her failed attempts at fame for hours on end to anyone who would pretend to listen! But Blaine felt like he had to lie to *Kurt* about it?

"So, what? You felt like you had to lie to me, had to make *me* feel like a failure, just to secure your place in my heart? What kind of love is *that*, Blaine?" He shook his head. "You know what? Don't even bother to answer that! Right now I'm a little more worried about my injured friend than your prissy sensibilities!"

"Ouch," Azimio muttered, leaning against the bar and taking another sip from the bottle before handing it to Katie, who tipped it back, looking tired.

Blaine's eyes flashed. "You didn't have such a problem with my 'prissy sensibilities' when we were living in LA! You just adored everything then!"

"No," Kurt snapped back. "I just kept my mouth shut. And just for the record, I *hated* the color you picked for the bedroom! And that car you bought? I thought it was the ugliest thing this side of Steve Urkel's pants! And unlike Steve it couldn't transform into Jaleel White! And our china? The pattern made me *weep.* Literally! I went into the bedroom and *cried*!"

Blaine's mouth dropped open. "You said you loved the rabbit print china!"

"I lied," Kurt snapped back. "And the joke about fucking like bunnies during dinner? Totally classless. Oh, and I lied about the divan, too! I *despised* that shade of green! It reminded me of the Joker's hair-and not in a 'Heath Ledger is hot' sort of way! And the microwave that we just *had* to replace? It was never broken, Blaine! *You* just never bothered to figure out how to use it!"

"Wow," Azimio said, eyes wide. "It's like bein' back in my bedroom. Kurt needs to meet my wife. I think he's da ying to her yang or whateva'."

Kurt shot him a glare and Katie a glare, then turned to shoot all the other little rubberneckers a glare only to let out a choked laugh when he realized that only Katie and Azimio were even looking in their direction. All of the other men were very pointedly staring at the TV or the bar or the field or their own crotches. *Men.* Such cowards.

Screw this whole mess, he wanted to know how *Dave* was! Kurt shoved past Blaine, causing the other man to stumble a little, and moved over to where Katie was leaning against the bar, bottle in hand. "I want to see Dave!"

Katie's eyes flickered back and forth between him and Blaine for a moment, a nervous look on her face. "Um, Kurt, I"m *sure* that Dave is fine. If he was really badly hurt they would have called me—"

"Yeah," Blaine cut in harshly. "Since you're his *wife*!"

Kurt took a deep breath, then pointedly turned his back to Blaine. Take that, Mr. All That! "I don't care. I want to go see him!"

Azimio winced. "Yo, man… You're cool and all, but I really don't think you should be going to the locker room. Dat's… it's just not kosher, man. I know it ain't PC or whatever, but it… well, it just won't be good fo' Dave. He… has it rough enough already. It won't help to have someone who, well, looks like you around."

Kurt's mouth dropped open and Azimio visibly flinched. Good to know the fucker was as scared of Kurt now as Kurt had been of him in high school. "Looks like *me*? Just what is that supposed to mean?"

The other man kind of rolled his shoulders, a nervous look on his face. "You… well… you have glitter in your hair. And you're wearing lipgloss, man."

Kurt turned to Katie, appealing to the, hopefully, more sensible woman. "Can you believe this?"

Katie stared at him for a moment then took another drink, looking uncomfortable. "Kurt… It's nice that you care so much for Dave, but you have to remember that the world Dave lives in is not quite as accepting as, say, Hollywood. Or even a high school in Lima. I mean... it's *pro ball*."

Kurt shook his head in disbelief. What was *wrong* with these people? No wonder Dave was so unsure of himself. His supposed friends just reinforced that he was, like, some sort of freak or something!

"Oh for God's sake!" Kurt let out a laugh. "Am I the only one here who actually cares if Dave is okay? Maybe we should worry a little less about what people think and a little more about whether or not he's on the way to the hospital!"

Katie sighed. "They would have *called* me, Kurt."

"Because you're his wife!"

Kurt turned back to Blaine, glaring. "I swear to God, if you say that one more time I'm going to slap you in the face!"

"But she *is* his wife!" Blaine shot back, looking furious.

Okay. He asked for it.

"Ouch! Dammit, Kurt!"

Kurt smiled for a moment, savoring the shocked look on Blaine's face as he rubbed at his cheek.

"You hit me!"

Kurt grinned, a little viciously. "What can I say? I decided to 'go for it.'" He waved a hand. "Now go file a domestic abuse report or something. I have other places to be."

Blaine's mouth dropped open and Azimio snickered.

"Sorry, man," he said with amusement. "I'm still on my preggers leave, yo. I can't take it. You'll have to drive to the station."

Kurt turned back to Katie, sticking a finger so close to her face that her eyes crossed when she tried to look at it. "You. Get me to the damn locker room."

Azimio laughed. "Yeah, Katie. 'Girls come an' kiss 'im, show him how you'll miss 'im, but get him to the locker room on time!'"

There was a moment of silence. "Azimio," Kurt said very slowly, staring disbelievingly at the grinning black man. "Did you... did you just quote 'My Fair Lady'?"

The Guy Code of Feigned Disinterest apparently did not apply to jocks quoting musicals, as every male head turned to stare, rather wicked smiles blooming on their faces. Wow. The last time he had seen Puck look at someone like *that*, he had gotten a pee balloon to the face.

Azimio shrunk down against the bar, eyes wide. "Uh… mmm... so, uh, how bout dem Saints, huh?"

Oh for God's sake. "Okay, that's it. I'm leaving. Katie, come on. We're going to the locker rooms." He shot Azimio a superior look. "On time."

The laughter began.

Kurt smiled. Suck on that, Dr. Thinklittle.


	12. Ch 12: Injured Reserve

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

**NOTE ON CONTENT/RATING:** Most of this story is an R-level rating. What smut there is has been edited down to a R/M rating. I will make a note in these edited chapters. If you are of legal age in your area of residence and would like to read the un-edited story, you can find it at sparklybat [dot] livejournal [dot] com [slash] tag [slash] homefieldadvantage

**Author's Notes: ** Okay, all you guys in Facebook!GleeRP with me, let the inside jokes abound... and yes, I *am* not so subtly calling Peacock a dick. *eg* Oh, and I got another chapter of this written and ready for revising... so look forward to something special people. Very, very special. Rawr. ;P

**Football Note**: Ron Mexico is the alias that Michael Vick supposedly used to get treatment for herpes (and giving it knowingly to other people...). He's an asshole. Damn Dogkiller. Hence the reference in the chapter.

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**Chapter 12: Injured Reserve**

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He didn't WANT to go into the light!

Go away, light!

No, no, no! It was dark here. And fuzzy. Like Fuzzy's Tacos. Except that the tacos at Fuzzy's weren't really fuzzy. But they were AWESOMEST. Bestest tacos in the world. But not the bestest burritos. That was Freebirds. Monster sized burritos. Were AWESOMEST. Yes.

The light flickered on and off, making Dave scowl. Or try to scowl. But it was dark and he wasn't sure were he'd put his body. He hated it when he misplaced his body. It was like losing your keys only worse 'cause you couldn't really look for it since you had no body. And you needed a body to look for your body.

Maybe he could grow out of someone's head like that snake dude from Harry Potter. He could grow out of Kurt's head. It would smell like flowers a lot but be WAY better that being on Azimio cause the baby puked on his head all the time and also 'cause he couldn't play video games with him anymore since they couldn't both look at the TV if he was on the back of his head. But if he was on the back of *Kurt's* head then he couldn't watch Kurt jerk off... Maybe he could grow out of Kurt's chest. Or his groin. That could be fun.

The light was back, flickering on and off like a street lamp you threw a brick at then they instantly fixed it and you threw a brick again. Pretty efficient. And he'd thought they'd been wasting all those tax dollars.

The lamp was fixed again, dammit. And he couldn't find any bricks. Oh, fine. He'd go into the damn light. Maybe he could find someone to attach him to their groin there so he could look for his body.

If he attached himself to Azimio would he turn black? Or would Azimio turn white? That would be weird. But it could explain what happened to Michael Jackson. Maybe he attached a white guy to his groin and the color spread. That must have been frustrating, having to buy all new makeup just 'cause some white dude attached his head to the place where your penis goes.

Dave was totally never attaching anybody to his penis. At least not *permanently*.

The light was really starting to piss him off. Who the hell did it think it was being all 'woooohoooo, come in ME!' You shouldn't come in people unless you're wearing a condom.

Did he need a condom to go into the light?

There was a sharp pain and Dave turned away from the light. He tried to grimace, then remembered his body was probably at a Lost and Found. He should check WalMart first, and then that porno store Azimio had hauled him to, and then maybe his grandma's place. His G-ma, yo. She reminded him of Bettie White sometimes.

Maybe it was Bettie who had attached herself to Michael Jackson's groin! She had 'white' in her name, and white hair, too, so that could totally explain the whole skin thing. It still didn't really explain the nose… but the snake dude in Harry Potter had a nose that kind of looked like Michael Jackson's, so there could be some relation.

On off, on off, on off, kinda like in out, in out, in out only much more annoying and his penis wasn't hard because he couldn't remember where he'd left it. It had still been attached to his body last time he saw it, though, and hopefully that was still the case.

He would kind of miss his penis if it left him. He named Katie's boobs. He should give his penis a name. Hm… it should be… Peacock. Since you pee with your cock and also 'cause Kurt liked feathers so it could be a play on words! But then his balls might be jealous… He could call them Sam and Finn Juniors. They had a lot in common with Sam and Finn Seniors after all. They were hairy unless you shaved them (which Sam totally did to his chest and Finn probably had to do to Rachel's hobbit feet back in highschool). They responsive but not very intelligent, though they were probably more intelligent than Sam and Finn. And they looked pretty good, in Dave's opinion—but nowhere near as good as Peacock the Penis. Yeah. Good names. Now all he had to do was find them again. He was starting to miss them.

The stupid light wasn't flashing anymore but it was zooming around like a search light. Why was it bothering him? He had important things to do! Like deciding whose groin he needed to attach himself to in order to find his penis. How long did they keep penises at the Lost and Found? Would they require ID for him to get it back? His driver's license didn't *actually* have a picture of his penis on it, no matter how many times Az had called him a dickhead.

Dammit! Was this light insane? He needed to find his penis! It needed to stop distracting him. Didn't it realize the dilemma he was in? His dick was probably frantic without him!

WAIT. Maybe his penis had acquired a search light. Like… like… a flashlight. Only attached to his balls. Maybe his penis was in the light. How long could it last without him? Did they have it on life support? This was an *emergency*! Did they take penises at the hospital? Dave hadn't bought it insurance. After all, you needed a Social Security number to get insurance and since his penis hadn't had a name then, he really couldn't have petitioned the state for one or anything.

The light was looking very upset. It *really* wanted him to follow it. Oh, God. Did his penis miss him? He moved toward the light and another sharp pain flashed through his head. It hurt, but it was worth it if it would lead him to his penis. Another pain. The fuzzy, warm darkness began to fade and all he could see was the light.

God, his head hurt.

Wait… if he didn't have a body, and he wasn't attached to anyone's groin, how was his head hurting?

More pain.

This was really strange…

"—rofsky? Can you hear me?"

Yeah. He could hear him. Hear who, though? Who had his ears attached themselves to?

"Mr. Karofsky, I need you to focus."

Dave sucked in a deep breath as his body suddenly appeared out of nowhere. It was really heavy. And achey. But was—oh, thank God. His penis was still attached. He blinked rapidly as the man in front of him shone a little flashlight into his eyes. Huh. His body hadn't been at the Lost and Found at all. But… where was he?

"Mr. Karofsky, can you speak?"

Oh, God, his *father* was here? He glanced around, vision tilting a little. No. No father. But then—

"Mr. Karofsky?"

Dave blinked. Oh. The dude was talking to *him*. Right. Could he speak? He wasn't entirely sure. He opened his mouth and then shut it again, grimacing as he cleared his throat. "Y-yes. I-I… yes."

The light of torture shut off and the man smiled down at him. "Welcome back, son. How're you feeling?"

Welcome back? Welcome back from where? He hadn't remembered going anywhere… He wanted to know how he felt? "Uh…" Well, his head felt like somebody had beat it in with a crowbar, his ribs were throwing a fit every time he took a breath, and his shoulder wasn't very happy with him either, but… "Fine." He'd had worse. A lot worse. It was a rough game.

"Good."

Dave looked around, slowly. A locker room. They were in a locker room. Right. At a stadium. But not the Cowboy's stadium. The… Browns. The Cleveland Browns. Who were usually the epitome of shit but were actually doing well tonight, probably because three of Dallas' top players were out of the game. It was Sunday. Sunday Night Football. Oh, *shit*.

Dave jerked forward, attempting to stand and failing miserably as his vision blurred. Dammit! He scowled, ignoring the pounding in his head as he literally shoving the doctor into the lockers in order to get a better look at the coaches standing behind him. "What happened? How are we doing? Can I go back in now?"

"I'm afraid not, son," the man—the on call doctor—replied, looking a little annoyed as he got back on his feet. Let him be annoyed. Dave was going back on the field if it killed him!

One of the assistant coaches shot the doctor an angry look. Dave gritted his teeth. The SOB was gonna get more than an angry look if he didn't let Dave back on the field.

"I can't okay you to play. You've got yourself a nasty concussion there. I don't even want you going to sleep for at least twelve hours, maybe more depending on how you're feeling then."

Dave scowled, a little more viciously than he had originally intended. "Fuck that! I gotta play, man!" He forced himself to his feet, then grabbed his head as pain washed over him, causing him to teeter back and forth a little. One of the coaches came forward, handing him a bottle of Gatorade and a couple of pills. God knew what they were, but if they'd make the headache go away, he was game. He tossed them back and chugged down about half the bottle before appealing to the coach. They, at least, *wanted* him in the game.

"Tell him, Marcus! Tell him I gotta go back in! Their defense is too damn good tonight for me to warm the damn bench, as great a bench Snuggie as my fat ass makes!"

"I did tell him," Marcus snapped back, his voice having skipped 'pissed off' and gone straight for 'homicidal.' "But the bastard won't listen to me. He has no respect for the game."

The doctor looked vaguely amused as he shook his head and Dave winced, hoping for the old fogey's sake that he wasn't going to say something smart ass to Marcus, 'cause the man was totally not above just hitting you in the god-damn face. One of the downsides of having former players as coaches. Nobody could say they didn't have a temper. Or that they wouldn't have a temper *tantrum* at a random moment.

Not that Dave had room to talk considering that, just a couple games ago, he'd gotten in a fist fight with the Redskins' blocker when the dude freakin' stuck out his damn foot and tripped him during a pass and the ref didn't call interference. At least their damn penalties had offset each other. Asshole.

Tight ends were usually either big and strong or slim and fast, depending on whether you wanted your man to block more or run more. But Dave was a rare combination of big and fast. With their first string quarterback, their best wide receiver, and their fastest running back all out on injuries, it would be like back at McKinley when you had to count on Hudson remembering the plays Beiste had called two minutes ago in order to win the game. Seriously, they hadn't won with that 'Single Ladies' gay dance 'cause it was a good play. It was just something the dumb ass could actually *remember.*

"Screw it," Dave said flatly, grabbing his helmet. "I'm going back in." Fuck the pain in his head. He just had to remember how *good* it hurt.

"You're not going anywhere," the doctor said flatly. "Not without my okay. And you're not getting my okay."

"Yeah?" Marcus spoke up, leering. "And how much, exactly, does your 'okay' cost, doc?"

"My 'okay' is not for sell, sir," the doctor replied, looking somewhat disgusted. "So I suggest you get back out there and figure out how to play with what you've got before I decide to report you for bribery."

Dave snorted. The guy must be new if he thought he'd get anywhere with that threat. They bribed the docs all the time. How else would guys with broken ribs and concussions get back on the field after ten minutes spent with a bag of ice and an Ace bandage?

"C'mon, man, I gotta get back out there and—"

Without warning the doctor reached up and clapped hard in front of Dave's face. The sudden noise made his vision flash and he toppled back into the lockers with a loud grunt. Goddammit!

"You are not going anywhere, Mr. Karofsky," the doctor said, crossing his arms, a stubborn look on his face. "Except maybe back out to sit on the bench. But really, I would suggest you go home."

Dave clenched his fists, his face growing red. Fuck this! He had to win! They had to win! This was all he fucking had. Didn't this schmuck know that one damn injury could end your career if the big guys decided you were the reason they'd lost a key game? Dave had sacrificed everything for this career. He needed to win! Because if he wasn't a winner, then what the fuck was he? He was a loser in every other part of his life after all. If he lost football all he had was a fake wife, an old pickup truck, and a bottle of vodka.

He pushed himself away from the lockers, banging a fist angrily against the metal as he did so, trying not to show just how loudly the sound was echoing through his head. "No. Screw you. I'm going back out there whether you like—"

"DAVID!"

Dave jumped slightly, his eyes widening as a small figure practically ran through the locker room, skidding to a stop in front of him and flinging his arms around his neck, his thin body plastered to Dave's.

What the fucking hell? What was Fancy doing here? He glanced nervously over at the coaches, who were not looking happy. Dammit, Hummel! Talk about a bad time to show up with glitter in your hair.

"Kurt," he said under his breath. "What are you doing here?"

The arms around his neck just tightened and Dave sort of patted the other man's back uncomfortably.

"I was so worried about you!" Kurt finally released him and took a small step back, eyes growing wide as he looked Dave up and down. "Oh, my God, are you okay? I'm sorry! I shouldn't have hugged you! Did I break you? Are you broken?"

Dave choked on a laugh, even as Marcus shot him a look of of doom-something that wasn't very humorous when he decided how fast and how far you would run at practice.

Was he broken? The princess made him sound like a Ken doll or something. "Uh, no, I think I'm still good. Not quite New In Box level but nothing that a couple of screws and a glue gun won't fix."

Kurt's brow furrowed as he eyed him, looking like he wasn't quite sure if Dave meant that literally or not. "Are you sure? Oh my God, I was so terrified!"

So terrified? You'd have thought he'd been hit by an 18 wheeler, the man looked so panicked. Yeah, it had been a hard hit but he hadn't fallen off a bridge or crashed an airplane or anything. It would have been cute had his coaches not been shooting him looks that ranged from 'what the hell?' to 'you gonna pay for this in blood.'

"You just disappeared under a big pile of enormous men! And then Finn started talking about some some kid… Sean Fritter or something?"

Fucking Hudson. Dave gritted his teeth. What the hell did he think he was doing, bestowing Kurt with tales of football terror as if Dave didn't end up under a pile of men several times a week. "I'm fine, Kurt," he said, shifting uncomfortably as he felt the weight of his coaches' gaze. How the hell had Kurt even gotten down here?

Dammit, Marcus did not look happy. He *had* been the one to inform him, quite vocally, that bringing boys to the locker room was *not* appropriate behavior after he'd caught Dave in the shower with… whatever the dude's name had been. But hey, Dave didn't have a lot to impress the guys with. The fact that he had a backstage pass to the Cowboy's oversized stadium had gotten him laid several times. Especially if he made not-so-subtle jokes comparing his dick to the size of the Jumbotrons. Those damn TVs were almost as big as the field.

But Dave had a feeling that it was a little more personal than just that little incident when it came to Marcus. He was definitely *not* the man's favorite player, by a long shot. In fact, Dave had his suspicions that it might actually have been Marcus who tattled on him to Nike. Jerry Jones was too busy envisioning money and a new Super Bowl ring to care what his players did when the lights went out and the head coach had just made it damn clear that if anyone on his team turned into 'Ron Mexico*,' he would simply remove the head of their dick. That way they would till have all the testosterone and none of the 'spread legs, insert here' attitude. Beyond that, he didn't give a fuck.

But Marcus… Marcus used the word 'fag' a little too liberally around Dave for anyone on the team to miss it. Which was *a lot* 'cause most of his teammates called each other 'fags' on occasion. But when it came to Dave, Marcus had a damn foul mouth.

He tried to smile at Kurt but it came out more like a grimace as Marcus shook his head in a rather… threatening… way. Dammit. Why, why, why had Kurt come here? And how had he gotten down here to *begin* with?

His question was answered as a sudden noise made his head split and Katie stumbled around the lockers, sort of hopping on one foot as she pulled off one of her high heels, looking pissed as she stuffed it into a designer purse big enough to hide the bodies of any guy who dared to smack her ass.

Dave was gonna stick *her* body in that bag for letting Kurt come down here, dammit. She *knew* what his coaches would say!

"Really, as much as I understand your worry, Kurt, did we have to come here at the speed of light? I broke my damn heel running around the freaking football stadium and these things cost three hundred bucks!"

Dave shook his head in disgust. Her *shoes* had cost three hundred bucks. His pro-level cleats didn't cost that much. Let her feel the pain of her lost shoe. He was gonna be feeling the pain for being a queer at the next practice.

"Yes, well, perhaps you should learn to run better in heels," Kurt replied in a clipped tone. "It's not that difficult. Of course *I* had plenty of practice in high school after the jocks decided that Hummel Hunting was a sport." He shot Dave a look and he couldn't help but blush a little as he remembered creeping around the corner, paintball gun in hand, Puck in position on the other side of the hall as Kurt slunk up to his locker, glancing around nervously to make sure the coast was clear… And then they had SPRUNG—he grimaced. Worst part was, it still kinda made him want to smile.

God, he was such an ass. Or, as Katie put it, a male. Of course she was such a bitch. Or, as Dave put it, a female.

"Anyway, I will give you a list of approved medications, however, you will need someone to stay with you in order to keep you awake," the doctor said, packing up his few belongings. "Now I suggest that you go home. And don't fly for at least 72 hours. The air pressure could damage your brain."

Okay, forget Kurt, forget Katie, forget the way the coaches were simmering-*this* was what he needed to deal with right now. Dave turned on the doctor, annoyed. "Screw that! I *have* to go back out there! I have to play!"

"You have a concussion. You need to take it easy, Mr. Karofsky."

"Fuck you. I want—"

"Dave!" Kurt cut in sharply, looking annoyed. Dave winced, shooting a glance at the coaches. Dammit, Kurt! "Why are you arguing with him? You have a concussion and you want to go back out and play football? Don't you care about yourself at all?"

"Yeah," Dave snapped back, frustrated. Kurt just didn't *get* it. "I care about myself enough to know that I'm a football player and if I sat out every time I bumped my noggin then I'd be living on the streets!" Or living alone in a one room apartment working as a garbage man until he became so fat that he couldn't get out of bed and some cable channel came and did a reality show on how pitiful he was.

That was what he father had informed him a time or two, anyway, right before sitting him down with a weight loss shake and making him watch 'Half Ton Teen' and three seasons of 'Biggest Loser.'

Ah, hell. He should have kept his mouth shut, yet again. Kurt looked pissed. Why did he have the feeling he was about to get bitched out? Right in front of his coaches no less. Just fucking fabulous.

Dave shot a glare at Katie. Why the hell had she brought Kurt here? She knew that was *not* cool. This was totally going to come back and haunt him 'til the day Jerry Jones slit his throat and left him as an oversized Bruce Willis, haunting the offense.

"You are such a dummy! Just like my father! I swear, you are *all* like little boys!" Kurt waved a hand in a limp wristed sort of way that made Dave wince—why did he get the feeling he'd be seeing *that* from Marcus a lot next week?—and sort of posed before the doctor, hands on his hips and chin jutted out. "Doctor, what do we need to do?"

Dave winced at the look on Marcus' face as the man sidled up to him. Yeah, he was about to get ripped a new one.

"So, Karofsky," the man said coldly, glaring, "who, may I ask, is this lovely little flower?"

"My sister," Dave shot back through gritted teeth. God Marcus was such a bastard. "She's a little high strung."

Marcus looked at him with disgust. "Sure it is. This your man, Karofsky? Here to kiss your boo boo? Make it all better? A little fairy dust, maybe?" He snorted. "A magic blow job?"

Dave's fists clenched at his side. "Fuck you," he muttered back, face reddening.

Dammit, Katie! Why the *hell* had she let Kurt come here?

Marcus crossed his arms over his chest. "You gotta sit this one out? Fine. But we lose this game 'cause you can't take a hit? You will be doing wind sprints to eternity. You got me, Karofsky?"

Yeah, he got him. He'd be doing wind sprints to eternity regardless. "Yeah, whatever." He shook his head bitterly as Marcus walked away, back over to the other coaches, and headed out the door. Who the hell did they think they were to put this damn game on *his* shoulders? What happened to being a team?

Oh, who was he kidding? It had nothing to do with the way he played and everything to do with the fact that Marcus didn't want him on the damn team. Too bad for the whiny, homophobic fuckwit that Dave was just too *good* to lose.

He sighed deeply and wiped at the sweat on his brow. At least his headache was lessening, rather quickly, actually, though he was feeling more tipsy than ever. They must have given him some strong shit to pop. Might as well get out of these pads. Obviously he wasn't getting any more play today.

"So he can take pain killers as long as someone stays with him to make sure he doesn't fall asleep, right?" Kurt questioned, apparently in deep conversation with Dr. Asshole on how to nurse Dave back to health. Good God, he had a damn notepad. And it was pink. And his pen had feathers. Where did he pull these things from? The secret stash of gay accessories stuffed up his butt?

Dave shook his head tiredly as Kurt began to scribble things down. Did he really think Dave was so stupid he couldn't remember to 'pop pill' and then 'sit on couch,' or was Fancy actually planning to play Operation with him? God save him. Kurt would probably try to wrap his ribs in sequined bandages and sign little pink hearts with cute saying onto a Velcro cast.

Katie was watching with an amused look on her face and Dave narrowed his eyes. Kurt should *not* have come down here. The coaches had been playing nice but when they got him alone, it would not be happy time. Hours of 'what if the fans see' and 'you know what your sponsors said' bullshit to wade through. But Kurt didn't get it. He didn't know any better. Katie did, though. She knew damn well that he walked a very thin line with the bosses. And medieval torture looked pretty good compared to Jerry Jones 'giving it to you straight,' the asshole.

Dave moved around Dr. Phil and Nurse Ratchett to stand beside Katie, who flashed him those perfectly straight teeth, looking deceivingly sweet and gentle with her big boobs and her fake tan and her ugly ass bleached hair. Yeah, she knew he was pissed. She wouldn't be bothering with the Dumb Blonde Cheerleader BS smile if she didn't. She knew how the coaches thought about anything 'queer' and Kurt was queerer than Joe Theismann in a tutu.

"Why the hell did you bring him here, Katie?" he asked coldly, keeping his voice low so as not to interrupt Kurt's amazingly animated discussion with the doctor. Why the crap was he flinging his arms around like that? Did he really find pharmaceuticals that interesting?

Katie shrugged lightly, obviously feigning indifference. She knew he was pissed and he knew she knew and he also knew she didn't like it. "Hey, like Marcus said, you never know when a magical blow job will heal all ills."

"Not funny," he snapped back, grabbing her arm and jerking her around to face him. "You *know* how they feel about… that part of my life! And they see Kurt, no matter *what* kind of relationship we do or *don't* have, their mind automatically goes to *that part* of my life!"

Katie stared at him for a moment, then sighed tiredly. "I'm sorry Dave," she reached out to touch his chest and he took a step back, causing her face to fall. He swallowed back the urge to just hug her and wipe the sad face away. Fuck that. She knew better.

"I really am sorry, okay," she said, her voice low. "I really wasn't going to bring him here—you're right, I *do* know how those bastards treat you. But he was so damn worried, Dave! Seriously, I thought he was going to start hyperventilating after Finn made that comment about some guy getting paralyzed or whatever. And Blaine tried to calm him down and…" She shook her head. "It wasn't pretty."

"You didn't have to bring him here, Katie," Dave said in an annoyed voice. "I'm sure they're blabbling right now that I'm out with a concussion. He could have waited ten damn minutes to find out."

"I'm not sure that he *could* have, David. Seriously, that's how worried he was." She crossed her arms over her chest—well, actually, sort of under her boobs—and stared up at him, her eyes daring him to argue.

Fine. He would take that dare. "Just leave me alone, Katie," he snapped. "I am not in the mood to have deep, girl-a-rific conversations about stupid relationship shit that is, ultimately, a bunch of BS."

"You know what?" Katie snapped back, "Fine. I *will* leave you alone. I would rather not get Athlete's Foot by osmosis anyway. *I*," she pointed to herself, "will just leave *you*," she poked Dave in the chest, "alone." She shifted the bag on her arm, smiling a little cruelly. "And you just have fun getting that jersey off, all by your little self!"

She spun on her heel and walked off, leaving Dave to stare down at his jersey, back up at the mostly empty locker room, and then down at his jersey again. His very, very, *very* tight fitting jersey.

Aw, damn.

This day was really making him wish he hadn't gone into the light. He really might have been better off on Azimio's groin.


	13. Ch 13: Holding

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

**NOTE ON CONTENT/RATING:** THIS CHAPTER IS ADULT. I am too tired to edit it and pisses me off anyway so if my story ends up getting taken down for being grownup, oh well. (It is 2:00 in the morning... I wanna sleeeep now, not edit.) I may edit later though. Whatever. I'll say, as always: If you are of legal age in your area of residence and would like to read the un-edited story, you can find it at the following URL, replacing the [brackets] with the correct symbol. **sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage**

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**Chapter 13: Holding**

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"Thank you so much, doctor! I really appreciate all your help. I will make sure he is well taken care of!" Because God knew the dummy would never take care of himself. Really, what was wrong with these Mr. Tough Guy men? Pushing themselves until they just collapsed. They talked about how women got the short end of the stick when it came to gender equality in this world, but, really, who decided it was a *good* idea to raise their boys thinking they had to pound their chests and wave their clubs until they dropped?

The man smiled. "I'm just glad someone in this stadium has a hint of sense! You have a wonderful day, Mr. Hummel."

"Thanks, doctor!" Kurt waved as the man made his way out of the locker room then glanced down at his neat little list of medications that Dave could take. He had them categorized by strength, with their use, all possible side effects, and how often they should be administered in a little chart he'd made.

Really, who would have thought that a football player could get twenty-three different kinds of prescription painkillers on a mere whim?

Kurt shook his head then glanced up, looking around for Katie and Dave. The coaches had left long ago, looking all grumpy faced, and the locker room, which was apparently designated just for injured players, was empty. He frowned deeply. Where had they gone?

Surely Dave hadn't tried to escape back onto the field… Seriously, if he was trying to go back out there with a concussion, Kurt was going to see how the man liked a pointy toed fashion boot up the butt.

"David?" he called out, eyes narrowing when no one answered. If that man had put his head dress back on and gone back out to do his war dance, Kurt was going to walk onto the damn field and haul him home by the jockstrap. Seriously, didn't he know how serious a head injury could be? "Dave?"

A banging sound, followed by a few choice curses, came from the other side of the lockers and Kurt relaxed, moving toward the noise. Thank God. He didn't doubt for a second that the boy would go back into that stupid game given half a chance. Men. Such big babies, never doing what they were told—

Kurt choked slightly as he rounded the lockers, eyebrows raising in disbelief as he watched Dave, jersey tugged halfway up his chest, lean hard against the lockers, arms stretched up in the air, and scoot up and down in an almost pornographic way, his hips wiggling a little.

Okay, when had he left the football stadium and entered a slapstick comedy?

"Damn, damn, damn," Dave muttered, an irritated a look on his face as he began to sort of hump the lockers with his entire body. Kurt wasn't sure *what* he was trying to accomplish with this, but it apparently wasn't working because another "Damn!" came from his direction.

Dear God.

Kurt posed, hand on his hip, smirking in amusement as he stepped forward into Dave's view. "Hello, David. Trying to scratch your back?"

Dave sort of jumped, and his feet slipped out from underneath him, causing him to slide down the lockers, landing hard on his butt. His face reddened as he stared up at Kurt, mouth hanging open stupidly, an obviously embarrassed look on his face.

"Kurt. Kurt! Uh, hi."

Kurt snickered. Boys. Just pretend everything was normal and it would all go away. "Hi," Kurt said, raising an eyebrow. "Doing the wave?" He nodded to Dave's still raised arms.

Dave stared at him for a moment, then glanced over at his arm as if he had never seen it before, the embarrassment obviously reaching a new level as he slowly lowered them.

Kurt shook his head and let out a laugh, and after a moment Dave joined in, flashing him a good natured grin as he pushed himself to his feet.

"What are you *doing*?" Kurt asked through his giggles as Dave settled himself down on the bench with a small groan.

He smiled, face still a little red, and shrugged gamely. "I was, ah, trying to get my jersey off. I pissed off Katie so she left me trapped."

"You can't take off your own shirt?" Kurt asked with amusement, chuckling at the self-conscious look on Dave's face. "How do you dress yourself?"

Dave grinned then ducked his head. "They don't want the other team grabbing our jerseys, especially the guys that run with the ball. So they give us ones that fit so tight over your pads that you can't even pull 'em on by yourself. We just stand there and the coaches sort of dress us, as weird as that sounds."

He dropped his eyes in a cute way and Kurt smiled. "And I take it the locker wasn't being a big help?"

"Apparently it didn't wanted to undress me," Dave said with a slightly embarrassed smile.

"I don't know why anyone wouldn't," Kurt shot back, amused as Dave's face somehow grew even redder. "That locker *must* be straight. I don't think any gay locker in the world would pass up a chance to get a look at that chest. In fact, you might find soccer lockers in Europe requesting transfers just for a chance to feel those big arms."

"Kurt!" Dave said, running a hand through his hair. He shook his head disbelievingly. "You are so bad!"

Dave sounded a little appalled and Kurt smirked. He thought *that* was bad? Seriously, the man hung out with too many straight men. No one could make a dirty comment about male anatomy as well as a gay man. It was a talent. Or possibly just a hobby.

Kurt shrugged and reached out to squeeze that very nice arm, causing Dave to blush and pull away. "Just stating the facts. You're hot and the lockers totally know it. Deal with it."

"I am not hot," Dave muttered, no longer looking so amused. "And I've had plenty of guys turn down the chance to feel these arms."

Kurt resisted the urge to roll his eyes, settling for a disbelieving shake of the head. Really, how could the big oaf think of himself as anything but hot, hot, and some more hot on the side? Yeah, maybe he was a little tall for good wedding photos, but having a chest as wide Queen Latifa's butt and a chest as hard as Simon Cowell's head more than made up for it. He could always sit in pictures. Seriously, you would *have* to be crazy to think he was anything short of steamy.

"Well, as I always say—they had to invent padded rooms for a reason." He grinned but Dave just rolled his eyes and looked down at his jersey, frowning as he began to try and jimmy it up again.

"Yeah, well, I don't tend to have good luck with guys. I just end up drunk from sitting alone making conversation with a shot glass all night."

Kurt snorted lightly. Yeah, he probably sat in a dark corner practically hidden away from everyone, his utter enormity scaring off any potential suitors who might otherwise brave his obvious depression for the chance to get laid by Macho Man.

Dave gave a little grunt as his jersey got caught on his pads again and Kurt sighed.

"Will you stop that?" He batted the man's big hands away, moving over behind him. "This is just sad. Why don't you let Momma Kurt help you? Now, lift your arms up."

Dave's face reddened again and Kurt couldn't help but smile. He was amazingly cute when absolutely out of his comfort zone.

"I don't need any help," he mumbled in return, pulling uselessly on his shirt again.

Dumb ass. Really, what was it about men and asking for help?

"Oh honey," Kurt said in a sugary sweet voice, "God knows you need help considering that I could practically see your split ends from the box in the stadium when that helmet of yours flew off. But I am just here to rescue you from the grips of the devious jersey. Talk about clingy. It thinks that it can keep you all to itself and I am going to show it otherwise." He winked, then tugged at Dave's arms until the man reluctantly lifted them.

Kurt reached around him to pull the jersey up from both sides, frowning when it refused to budge. He yanked at it again and was reward with a few inches of slippage. Good God, and Kurt had thought his latex pants were tight!

"Damn," he said, raising an eyebrow. "Did you need lube to get this thing on?"

Dave let out a laugh as Kurt finally managed to yank the thing off.

"Thanks," he said as he began to remove his pads. "I appreciate it."

Kurt blinked. *God* that was a nice chest. Even sweat covered and untrimmed, the man was *hot*. Screw brick houses, he was built like a concrete skyscraper.

"Kurt?"

Kurt forcibly tore his eyes away from its candy, smiling at Dave. "Hm? Oh, no problem." No problem at all if it got him a glance at *that* body. He wondered idly if Dave needed any help removing his pants. They were pretty damn tight, too.

There was a sort of awkward silence as Dave stood, shoulders hunched, hands hovering over the crotch of his pants. "So. Um, I kind of need to shower now."

Mmmm. Dave, slick with soap, steam rising as the hot water flowed across those contoured muscles, running between those cut pecks, down his wide hips to—

"Kurt?"

Damn him for interrupting a most beautiful image. "Hm?"

"I said, thanks for coming to see me. Even if it probably wasn't the best idea. I mean, it was kind of a surprise and I'm really not sure my coaches appreciated it. But it was nice of you." He tongued his cheek nervously—wow, that was hot—and glanced off to one side. "So. Anyway. It's been really good to see you." His broad chest rose as he took a deep breath, looking back at Kurt. "I just want you to know… I treated you like shit in school and probably didn't deserve your help, but you just being who you were really helped me in the end. It gave me an example of someone who could just… be… and not worry about what people thought. You don't see much of that. Especially where I come from. So, thanks."

Kurt frowned. This was sounding a lot like good bye. That or a thank you version of the Evil Overlord monologue. "Um, thank you, David. It's been really good to see you, too. Much better than I expected. Since I didn't really expect anything but to hate your guts."

Dave chuckled at that, dropping his head. "Yeah. And I get that. I was… not good at expressing myself back then. Or was just an asshole. Whatever."

Kurt laughed. "Maybe a little of both. But, just so you know, I've actually learned a lot from you in these past few days—and not just that 'tight end' is used for more than describing Brad Pitt's ass. But David… this kind of sounds like a farewell. And I don't know how much I like that."

Dave shrugged, hugging his arms. "Well, yeah. I mean, they won't want me to fly for a few days with the concussion and all. The air pressure is, like, bad for your brain or something. And I don't really want to drive back to Lima tonight. So I'll probably just shack up around here and you guys can fly back. So, yeah. It's sort of good bye."

Kurt frowned, his good mood dropping like the volume on a TV when you hit the minus button. Good bye. It was time to say good bye. Had it really only been a couple of days since he first saw Dave in Breadstix and had an incredible urge to rip out the man's intestines and dump a little marinara sauce on top for good measure? It was astonishing how quickly and how *much* your feelings toward a person could change when you just understood them a little better.

But why the hell did he suddenly feel like someone had just told him Prada's new line was sold out before he could even get to the store? This shouldn't come as any shock. It was a reunion, for God's sake. They only lasted in bad movies they showed on Lifetime. In the next few days Tina would be selling her incesticide free, worm filled fruit and Mike would be putting on his stiff suit and Rachel would be returning to her career as an utter failure on Broadway. Mercedes would be waving her lighter in the air for Jesus, Artie would be typing up a fortune, and Dave… Dave would be back in Texas dirtying jockstraps and doing pushups. And Kurt would be the only one left at McKinley High.

How could things feel so different when absolutely nothing had changed?

Kurt swallowed back the lump growing in his throat as Dave flashed him a sad smile, hunching his shoulders so much as he moved around Kurt that the dummy looked like he was trying to curl up in on himself as he headed toward the shower stalls. Kurt turned, following the man with his eyes.

But some things *had* changed, hadn't they? Blaine was back, be that good or bad. Kurt really wasn't sure anymore. He still had his dreams, that stardom waiting to be fulfilled. The life that he had always wanted.

…Or the one he had wanted in high school, anyway.

Kurt's brow furrowed slightly at the thought. Seriously, when *was* the last time he had actually taken a moment and *dreamed* of doing something? Things had changed since he was sixteen years old, for God's sake. Was it really so horrible to admit that the idea of running off to Hollywood to be another name on a Boulevard star didn't give him the same thrill that it had when he'd been using acne cream and cramming for Algebra tests? Was it so wrong to just dream of being *happy*, even if that wasn't synonymous with fame and glory?

He'd worked so damn hard to make it work with Blaine, because it was everything he had wanted. The high life, the flash, the excitement. But what about the happiness?

Really, what *did* he dream of?

The shower head turned on and Kurt stared at the figure hulking over the partition, those big shoulders still hunched, his head down as he let the water pound onto it. Didn't that hurt? He had a concussion! He needed to be careful!

Really, he was such a *boy.* Just like Kurt's dad. Tough teddy bears who couldn't care for themselves to save their lives. Eating Slim Jims for breakfast and tossing their red shirts in with their white socks! At least *that* one had gotten Kurt some nice pink socks. And when *would* they figure out that toilet paper rolls did *not* actually grow on the handles and that if you do not purchase them then you will eventually have a *very* uncomfortable moment after you poop.

Dave raised his head, rolling his shoulders and causing the muscles in his arms to ripple. There was a fluttering in Kurt's stomach and in other, less appropriate areas. Not surprising considering that there was a naked man built like a Greek god showering a few feet from him.

…But it wasn't *just* the broad shoulders and big arms that made his breath catch as he stared at Dave. Kurt had seen plenty of attractive men over the years, after all. It was the warm feeling that grew in his chest as he remembered Dave's stupidly cute comments, and the way he seemed to think that a cupcake was worth a thousand times its weight in gold. It was the way all the stress that seemed to weigh on him constantly, the endless *need* to be constantly aloof and suave and in control, just kind of dissipated when he sat down next to Dave. It was the feeling of content that just sort of filled him when everyone else was somewhere else and it was just him and Dave, talking about stupid things.

Not that the broad, masculine shoulders and muscular thighs hurt any.

But this… it Carol's hot chocolate warming up a grey Sunday, it was Dad's smile as he worked on a car with one hand and ate a donut hole with the other, it was the dopey look that came over Finn's face when a Journey song came on the radio and he began to play the air drums.

It was his mom's lips against his cheek as she tucked him in at night.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut at that. No. No, this was… he didn't know what it was. But it wasn't right. Liking Dave was one thing. Connecting him with *those* feelings… No. Family was forever, even after they were gone. A man was different. A man was someone who took you to hot spot restaurants and accompanied you to the opera and discussed the absolute 'FAIL' of Paris Hilton's latest look with you and rolled around in bed with you when the need arose. You could love them, but *family* was forever, and it took a hell of a lot more than a couple years of living together—much less a couple days of speaking civily to one another—before they were family.

He should go. Kurt stared sightlessly at Dave's back. He needed to leave. Now. Dave was right—this was good bye.

It had been a good experience, meeting Dave again, seeing that people really could change. It had even been a good lesson, a reminder that people were a hell of a lot more than a couple of bad choices made before their voices had even finished changing. It was good that they were friends now. But it was time to part ways.

Kurt would just leave his little list of approved medications here on the bench. He would get back to his friends and they would—

There was a loud bang and Dave suddenly disappeared from view, causing Kurt's breath to catch.

Oh God, oh God, oh God! Was he okay? Had the doctor been wrong? Had it been worse than he thought? Had Dave collapsed?

Kurt hadn't realized he could move that fast, but the next thing he knew he was in front of the shower, staring down with wide eyes at Dave, his heart pounding too fast. Was he okay? What should he do? What—

"Dammit!" Dave pushed himself up from his prone position on the floor, his back to Kurt as he pulled his legs up to his chest and leaned heavily against the tile wall, rubbing at his forehead. "Such a klutz."

The black fear that had been sucking on Kurt's chest released him and his shoulders slumped forward a little. He was all right. He had to be all right if he was joking. He wasn't going to be lying silent on a hospital bed anyway.

"Dave!" Kurt reached into the shower, out of his mind enough to not even care when the water soaked his sleeve, and turned off the tap as he moved into the stall, crouching down next to the man. "Are you okay?"

Dave looked over at him, eyes widening slightly as he pulled his legs even tighter against himself, leaning away slightly from Kurt's touch.

…Why did that kind of hurt?

"What happened?"

Dave gave a huff of laughter, shaking his head. "It's okay. I'm fine. Stupid pills I popped are making me tipsy. Better than a throbbing migraine, but not great for showering on slippery floors without one of those handrails they make for old people. " He held up a piece of metal and Kurt blinked, raising an eyebrow. "Apparently the soap holder was *not* designed to hold the weight of a full grown football player. They should really put a warning sign: Not meant for the steadying of drunken fatsos or pill-happy big boy ball players."

Kurt gave him a tight smile, the last of his nerves calming. If Dave was sensible enough to make stupid, subtly self-deprecating jokes then he must be all right. "A flaw in the design, surely," Kurt replied primly, hoping he didn't look as upset as he had felt. "Is it that bad? Can you stand up?"

Dave gave him a small smile. "You want the tough answer or the truth?"

Kurt snorted delicately. "We all know that manly men are wussies at heart. Is it just the pills? Or do you think it was your head, too? Does it hurt?"

"I'm a football player. It always hurts." He laughed as Kurt rolled his eyes, then reached up to rub at his head. "I'm okay. My vision just keeps tipping every now and then from the pills. It happens. You just have to deal with it."

Kurt frowned. "Maybe they gave you too many…"

Dave gave him a half-grin. "Fancy, I'm gonna need another handful in a couple of hours. But I was kind of hoping to achieve relative cleanliness before driving with fuzzy vision to the closest non-ghetto fabulous pharmacy I can find."

"I don't know, getting marijuana on a street corner might be easier," Kurt replied, "and much safer than *you* driving *anywhere*!" He shook his head, smiling a little at the way Dave was practically grinding the heel of his palm into his forehead. He reached out, pushing those big hands away, and began to gently massage his temples. "*You* are not driving anywhere, big boy. And you're not going to be taking any painkillers without someone there to keep you awake! The doctor was very clear on that. I'll stay with you."

Dave shook his head, pushing Kurt's hands away gently, a tired smile on his face. "I'm fine, Kurt. Thanks, but I'll be okay. Believe it or not, this is not my first concussion. Or my worst. This really isn't all that bad."

Kurt grimaced at that. "I would hate to see your idea of bad, then! The doctor said you blacked out for almost fifteen minutes!"

Dave snorted. "Fancy, being carried off the field on a stretcher with a brace on your neck and blood spurting into the air from where they snapped your leg in two is bad. Having the fingers on one hand flop in the wrong direction is bad. Laying prone on the field for an entire commercial break 'cause your cup slipped and your balls got whammied so hard you aren't sure they're *ever* gonna show themselves again is bad. I really am fine."

Kurt winced a little. If they were doing gross out shows, Dave would get a standing ovation. And, of course, he was totally *fine.* Except for having vision that was tilting bad enough he'd gone head over heels in the shower. "Uh-uh. We're getting you to a hotel and you're going to sit in bed like a good boy and take your medicine until I decide you are fit enough to resume your normal stupid-yet-manly activities. Okay?"

He reached out, grimacing as he touched the soap in Dave's hair. "First you need to finish showering. What kind of shampoo do you use? This is disgusting."

"The soap kind."

"Yes," Kurt said with a roll of the eyes. "As shampoo usually is. What brand is it?"

"Er… bar soap brand?" Dave reddened slightly at the look on Kurt's face.

Dear God. No wonder the man had split ends. Did he even *condition* it?

Kurt let out an exasperated sigh and stood, shaking a finger when Dave looked like he was about to follow him. "Uh-uh," Kurt said as he unbuttoned the cuffs on his shirt—they better have a hand dryer in here, because it was *soaking*—then moved to removing his tie. "You stay down there until I can help you get up."

Dave stared up at him, a little wide eyes. "Uh, Kurt, what are you doing?"

"Well, I am not going to ruin my nice clothes standing in a shower with you, Karofsky, so let me introduce you to a unique process we of the grown up type call 'undressing.' And we don't even need to put our arms in the air and wait for someone to tug on our onesies to do it!"

He pulled off his shirt and folded it neatly, then reached down to unbutton his trousers. "It's remarkably handy for many things," he continued in a rambling tone. "Bathing. Changing into *different* clothes from the ones you've worn for a year. Sexual congress. Body cavity searches. All sorts of things." He smirked a little as he dropped his pants and Dave covered his eyes with his forearm, turning his head away.

"Kurt, please! I can shower by myself, okay? I'm not a little boy and neither are you, so please, *please* just go wait by the lockers, okay? Then you can babysit me or whatever—though I am *not* watching that stupid show where a bunch of girls go to an overpriced store and look at wedding gowns. I already spend way too much time watching TLC when mu collection of Cheerio fag hags decide they're going to hang at my house. Just go wait for me, okay?"

His voice was a little too fast and Kurt shook his head. Silly boy. He set his carefully folded pants outside the stall next to his Italian loafers, then moved back into the shower, hands on his hips as a smile tugged on his lips. God, Dave was cute.

Obviously he had *not* had enough boyfriends, or any sense of shame he might have once known would have been long replaced by an unquenchable desire for the male figure, even if you were just sneaking peeks in the shower.

"Come on now," Kurt said, holding out a hand. "Get up."

Dave glanced up, a pained look on his face as his eyes went right past Kurt's hand to another, apparently more interesting, piece of his anatomy.

The man's eyes looked like they were about to pop out, they were so wide.

Kurt laughed and Dave shot him a glare. "Oh, come on, Karofsky! We keep finding ourselves trapped in awkward locker room situations. I don't know if it's a subtle hint from Mother Fate or just a really bad joke, but since I know you were looking the last time we showered side by side, as hard as you tried not to, just give up the shy girl act and let's get you propped up so that we can get the bar soap out of your hair, you big Neanderthal."

Dave stared at him long enough that Kurt was starting to wonder if the man really was just going to sit there forever, then he let out a sudden laugh, his tight shoulders relaxing, his tense body suddenly supple.

Mmm. Supple. Maybe not the best choice of words at the moment considering that Kurt's dick seemed to find the thought… intriguing. He felt a twitch as the blood began to flow downward.

Kurt just reached down, tugging on one of Dave's arms. "Come on, up now." He was in mother hen mode. Nothing would steer him from his chosen role as caretaker, not even the part of him that was much happier as a rooster than a hen. "Let's get up."

Dave clenched his jaw as he glared up at Kurt, squeezing his knees together as he refused to stand. "Could you *please* stop using that *word*?"

Kurt frowned, raising an eyebrow. "What word?"

"Up," Dave said shortly, his voice deeper than usual. "Get up, get up, get up! How about we try out 'stand' or 'climb to your feet' or something, huh?"

Kurt let out a bark of laughter, smirking as he glanced pointedly to where Dave's knees were pulled up against his chest. "Having a little trouble?"

"No," Dave said through gritted teeth. "It would be nice to be having trouble. Then this wouldn't be quite so awkward. I have to admit, you are the only man who has ever managed to make me wish I actually had erectile dysfunction. It's like we're back in high school. Do you have *any* idea how many times I had to walk down the hall with a textbook in front of my crotch?" he shuddered. "True teenage *horror.*"

Oh, now *there* was an amusing image. Kurt chuckled. "Ah, yes, teenagers. So self-conscious. As if anyone would ever even notice. I mean, I *liked* men and I didn't even look at their pants when chatting with them by my locker. I was much more interested in whether or not my own hair was out of place."

"Yeah, well. You're not me. Trust me, they noticed. They noticed when my balls dropped two years before anyone else's—your brother teased me fucking endlessly—and they noticed that I had to alter my cup so it didn't squeeze my junk and they noticed when I couldn't put my jockstrap on 'cause I was surrounded by a bunch of half naked dudes and my hormones were going *crazy.* I had to put a Playboy calendar in my locker just so I'd have an excuse for why I had a boner."

Kurt blinked. "What happened to the guy code? How did they notice if their eyes were elsewhere? Why were they looking at your penis?"

Dave's face suddenly looked like he'd just rubbed on enough blush to put Dolly Parton to shame. "Mmm knd bek," he muttered, avoiding Kurt's gaze.

Kurt gave a little huff of laughter, raising an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Dave glared. "I'm kinda big, okay? I'm kinda big. Which, though it was a plus when we got shitfaced drunk and pulled 'em out to measure 'em, meant that when I got happy, it *showed*."

Kurt rolled his eyes. He hated it when guys decided they were hung like Superman with a penis implant-though it often made for a good laugh when he saw it for himself. And a good story to tell his girlfriends. "Dave, I have seen a lot of guys. Most are average size. Hence the phrase 'average size.' Your buddies probably just enjoyed messing with you. And gay guys will always say your dick is big to get in your pants."

"No, I'm pretty sure I'm big. I have a good source."

Kurt laughed. "Oh? And who's that?"

Dave hunched a little, looking embarrassed. "Well… Back in college Katie and I were joking around and I said her tits were so big that I was surprised her man didn't suffocate in them. And she said to shut my smart mouth 'cause if I ever got drunk and slept with a chick I had better make sure the lights were out, otherwise they'd see my cock and be out the door. *I* said that was stupid." He shrugged. "After all, guys seemed fine with it. So we made a bet." He scowled deeply. "I had to go with her to the damn Vagina Monologues. Alanis Morisette sang and I seriously considered slitting my own throat."

Kurt let out a laugh, shaking his head. "You flashed a girl?"

Dave snorted. "Something like that. Basically, we kissed. The chick got naked. I dropped my pants. Then she said that her period had suddenly started and that it would probably last at least two or three weeks so there was no point in exchanging numbers." He frowned. "And, according to Katie, nobody's period lasts three weeks. And it normally involves, like, quite a bit of blood, so I probably would have noticed if the naked girl had started it in my bedroom. Damn her."

"Oh my God," Kurt said, running a hand through his hair as he laughed. "That is hilarious. Okay, now I *gotta* see. Stand up, big boy. Not all of us are tall enough to peek over shower stalls like you do, so I think it's my turn to get a looksie. Get up and let's see if I'm impressed enough to get my period. Though I must admit, I am quite a picky judge." When Dave just glowered at him, Kurt started making kissy noises and began to tug on his arm.

For God's sake, he had seen guys embarrassed about how small their dicks were, but he had never seen anyone this shy because they thought they were hung like a horse. Of course, most guys actually turned out more like a carrot. Sometimes a baby carrot. Maybe even a sugar cube.

Just how much had Finn and the other jock boys teased him?

"C'mon, big guy. Up, up, up—and yes, I am going to keep saying *that* word until you stand up, silly boy—up, up, up—"

"Oh, alright," Dave said, looking a little put out. He shook his head and climbed to his feet, flashing a nice view of his very tight end before he turned around and—

Oh. Hm. Wow.

Kurt stared and Dave looked away, eyes on the floor, face red.

Hm. Yeah. Okay. What *did* you say to that?

"Your text books were big enough to cover that?

There was a moment of silence, then they both burst into laughter, Dave ducking his head as Kurt moved toward him, glancing down at the man's only half-hard but already *very* large cock.

Well, he *did* have big feet.

"Okay," Kurt said as their laughter died down, smiling at Dave as he reached out to turn on the tap. "Now, that we're even on the 'checked him out in the shower' thing, let's try and get you washed off without any more accidents, okay, pet?"

Dave rolled his eyes. "Don't call me 'pet.' I am not a little boy."

"No," Kurt said with amusement, pointedly trailing his eyes down the man's body, grinning. "You are *definitely* not a little boy. Now, come here."

He stepped under the flow of water, tugging Dave in after him. He chuckled as the man glanced at Kurt, then down, then back to his face, obviously embarrassed. It really was so cute.

Hm. Now, how to keep Mr. Tipsy from any more spills? Kurt supposed Dave could just lean on him. That would probably be enough to keep his butt from meeting the floor again.

"Here," Kurt said, reaching out and taking Dave's hand. He could wrap that big arm around his shoulders and that would be enough to keep the man steady… "Put your hand here." Of course, just above his hip was a perfectly reasonable place to use for purposes of balance, too. Absolutely. Totally.

And if his body responded as those thick fingers rested on his hip, well, it was only natural. They were men, after all.

Dave could still slip. So it was totally reasonable for Kurt to direct the man's other hand down until it was resting on his other hip.

Dave stared at him for a moment, wide eyes, then looked away, shoulders hunching slightly even as his cock twitched, the tip brushing gently across Kurt's stomach as it rose, causing him to shiver at the sensation.

Oh, God. Kurt took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders as the water ran down him, hot against the sensitive skin of his hardening dick.

"Now," he said, voice quiet as he reached up, pressing his hand lightly to Dave's cheek, guiding his face until their eyes were locked. "You just hold on there. And stay steady, because if you go down, you're taking me with you!"

A small chuckle came from the other man. "Do you always talk entirely in Freudian slips?"

No. What the hell was he doing?

His cock jumped and Kurt frowned. Not the kind of answer he was looking for. But it was just… nice. Standing there in the water, so close to Dave. It was… relaxing. And exciting. But in a relaxed way.

"No," he said quietly as he reached out, gently pressing a fingertip to the chest, "I think," the finger traced along Dave's hard pec, "that you," around his pink nipple, "just bring out the worst in me." Or the best.

Dave opened his mouth, then shut it again, staring down at the smaller man with wide, almost frightened, eyes. "Kurt?" he said quietly as he dropped his eyes to watch the finger tracing down, down his chest. "Wh-what are we doing?"

What were they doing? Why the hell was Kurt supposed to know? This was insane. This whole weekend had turned into a big mess of insanity. But if insanity always felt this good, Kurt might just invest in a straightjacket.

"I think," Kurt replied finally, "that we're taking a shower." He pushed Dave back gently so that he was fully under the stream of water then reached up, standing on his tippy toes in order to run his fingers through Dave's soapy hair, using one hand to keep it from running into his eyes as the water pounded down.

Dave's eyelids fluttered as Kurt massaged his scalp and he took a small step forward, ducking his head so that Kurt could more easily run his fingers through that short, thick hair.

Kurt's breath caught and he had to hold back a groan as he felt the other man's cock press into his side, warm and firm. His whole body was heating up, and it wasn't from the water. This was the kind of heat that came from the inside and spread, growing hotter and hotter, until you couldn't think of anything else but that pounding, throbbing heat. Just the velvety feeling of Dave's cock resting lightly against his stomach, the touch of skin so soft yet so hard, was enough to warm him throughout.

"Dave…" Kurt ran his hands down the other man's face, tipping that round, handsome face up as he moved in closer, wrapping on arm around Dave's neck as he used the other to grasp one of those big, strong hands, directing it down and back until it was caressing his buttock.

"Oh God, Kurt," Dave said, his breath heavy. His eyes were too wide, mouth parted as he stared down, tongue flicking out to lick at his lips.

Oh, yes. Kurt leaned in a pressed his lips to Dave's. They weren't very full and they weren't very soft and they tasted more like sweat than lipgloss, but somehow those firm yet giving lips just reminded him of the cock pressing into his stomach, rubbing against his belly button, and his cock twitched as he imagined a ghostly sensation of what that mouth would feel like in other places, wrapped tightly around him as he thrust into that pulling, sucking wetness, so hot and slick.

Kurt wanted to taste that heat.

Kurt cocked his head to the side, slipping his tongue into Dave's mouth almost violently. The man made a soft sound and started to pull away but Kurt let out a moan and grabbed the back of his head, pulling him back down as he continued to fuck that mouth with his tongue. So good. So hot and wet. Now if he would just… *yes.*

Kurt moaned again as Dave's tongue pressed against his, more of a fight than a dance, then those lips slipped downward, Dave's mouth locking on Kurt's lower lip, sucking at it, tugging it gently as his tongue tracing lightly along it.

"Mmmm." Kurt scraped his teeth lightly against Dave's lip and the man made a whimpering noise, his big hand clenching down on Kurt's butt cheek.

Kurt pulled back slightly, panting. "Yes," he said through heavy breaths. "Squeeze it. Mmm. Squeeze it, dammit." He shoved his mouth back against Dave's, flexing the muscles in his butt in encouragement as those big fingers kneaded at the flesh. "Harder…"

Dave complied, fingers digging in deep enough that they'd probably leave marks and Kurt wiggled slightly, angling his cock in an attempt to rub his hardness against that muscular thigh.

Dave's big cock twitched and Kurt yanked the man even closer, trapping it between their bodies, pressed hard enough to make Dave whimper, his hips thrusting sharply.

"You like that?" Kurt said, his slightly swollen lips pressed to the the bigger man's ear as he dragged that head down with one hand, using the other to lightly drag his nails down that huge back.

Apparently he did like it, because he made a small choking sound and thrust his hips upward, slumping his shoulders and dropping his head down to lightly tongue the back of Kurt's neck.

"Yeah," Kurt said, voice harshly amused. "I thought so." His own dick pulsed and he took a breath, squeezing his thighs together in an attempt to alleviate the ache, then he pushed away from Dave just enough to slip his hand between them, wrapping it around the head of Dave's cock and squeezing, thumbing the slit lightly. He smiled a little viciously at the indescribable look on Dave's face as the man squeezed his eyes shut and moaned. Terror? Joy? Agony? Ecstasy? Whatever it was, it was primal—and beautiful.

"You sure are quiet," Kurt said through soft pants as he began to thrust his cock against Dave, breath coming faster as his hips moved steadily against that hard thigh. His lips curled up in amusement at the way Dave's head fell back, mouth hanging open, as he began to gently caress the man's cock in a way he knew was so very soft that it hurt like hell. And felt like fucking heaven.

"Don't you like it? 'Cause, you know, if you don't…" He leaned forward, smirking into Dave's shoulder as he slipped his fingers away, dragging his nails back up the other man's back.

"NO!" Dave made a little whimpering sound that would have made Kurt want to giggle had be not wanted so badly to throw his head back and moan.

"Nooo, don't stop. I… like. It. Like it. Don't… stop."

Kurt pushed back, staring up into Dave's slightly glazed eyes. "You want this?" he asked, a little hoarsely, as he wrapped his long fingers around that big dick again, smiling as he pumped it twice, hard and fast, causing the bigger man to moan.

"Yeeees," Dave whined in an almost boyish way, leaning heavily against the wall as Kurt put his weight on him, hand still wrapped around his cock as their bodies pressed hard together.

"Yes, what?"

Dave made a grunting sound and thrust his hips.

Kurt licked his lips, planting one hand against the wall in order to push himself up off of Dave, running his eyes down the man's form. God, he was so sexy, his chest heaving, those hips making moves of desperation as cum leaked from the tip of his cock.

Oh, he'd love to wrap his mouth around that oversized dick and make that Neanderthal son of a bitch beg like a little girl. To watch those strong legs shake and those big fists clench in need and those shoulders quiver, his head thrown back, so full of want that he couldn't even control himself. All because of Kurt.

*God* he wanted it *so* bad…

He was never leaving the house without condoms again, dammit.

Kurt shoved his face into Dave's as the man made a sort of growling sound, nuzzling at him until their eyes were locked. "Learn some politesse…" Oh, *God* he was hot. What had he been saying? Oh, yeah. "Learn some…" Soooo hot. "Politesse, David."

Kurt leaned in, nipping at the man's neck as he began to thrust his hips again, shoving himself against the other man. "You want this?" He glanced pointedly down at the hand wrapped around his cock.

Dave's brow furrowed, his mouth opening and closing again as his eyes flickered, almost unseeingly, back and forth between Kurt's eyes and his lips. "Y-y-yes!" He began to blink rapidly, those big hands running up from his butt along Kurt's back, then back to his butt again, nails digging into his skin.

God, it felt so good.

"YES!"

Kurt took a deep breath, trying to calm the pressure building in his cock. Focus. Focus. Focus. Steady. Need. To. Focus.

"Yes, WHAT?" he asked with a breathy laugh. "You want this, you better be good, David!"

The man shook his head, looking dazedly confused. "What you want me say?" He groaned as Kurt began to squeeze rapidly at the shaft of his cock. "Just tell me and I say!"

Kurt leaned in with a wicked little chuckle, brushing his nose against the side of the man's face. "Please, David. Just say *please.*" He smirked then tipped his head forward, latching his teeth down onto Dave's neck, sucking at the skin like we wanted to suck that needy cock. That big, begging, desperate cock.

"Pleeeease!" Dave cried in a shout that turned into a moan, slapping a big hand against Kurt's ass, a whimper escaping his lips. "Please! Please, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease!"

Kurt began to laugh through heavy pants as he palmed Dave's dick, running his fingers up and down it, gently tracing a vein with his thumb then suddenly pumping it, hard and rough, then slow and easy, again and again, working at the shaft with his fingers, making Dave moan and lean harder against the wall.

"Touch me," Kurt said hoarsely, digging his fingers into Dave's muscular arms. "Now!"

Dave made a little noise and then began to nod, over and over again, until Kurt reached up with his free hand and grabbed his chin, forcing him to stop as he stared hard into Dave's wide, glazed eyes.

God, he was so sexy.

"Touch me." Kurt dropped his other hand down, using both to knead at Dave's cock, and the hard pressure on his ass disappeared as Dave's big, rough palm moved up, around his hip, and then down again, wrapping tightly around Kurt, that enormous hand engulfing almost all of his cock. Kurt whimpered as rough callouses brushed against his shaft and then thick fingers cradled his balls, squeezing them rhythmically.

Yes, yes, yeeeees.

"Oh, God, Dave…" He leaned forward, hands caught between them as he continued to tug at the other man's cock, and pressed his face into that huge chest as the feeling of being totally encased by Dave's strong grip washed over him. "Yes. Mmmmm-hmmm. Never stop. Never."

"Ne'er," he muttered as his hips began to thrust frantically, his cock slipping through Kurt's hands to rub against his stomach.

Dave stared down into Kurt's eyes for a moment, then his wide shoulders began to shake, a hoarse, almost desperate laughter coming from him. "Wha' we doin', Kurt?"

"I dunno," Kurt said, chest heaving as he yanked at Dave's dick harder than ever, lips turning up as he watched the man's chest quiver. "But it sure… feels… good." Mmmmm.

Dave blinked down at him for a moment and then threw back his head with a groan, laughing a little crazily as all those muscles flexed, his big body locking as cum spurted from the tip of his cock, leaking on to Kurt's hands and down his stomach.

"Oh, yeeeees," Dave whimpered, grabbing Kurt around the shoulders and pulling him hard against his chest, his big hand still pumping between them. "So good. Yeees."

"Yes," Kust said, moaning as he wrapped both arms around Dave's neck, wiping the stickiness onto that big back as his hips pumped desperately against the other man. Oh, God, it felt so good. This man… so hot. God, those muscles.

He moaned as he rubbed up against Dave. All that needy desperation wrapped up in someone so wide and big and strong. It was beautiful. He was beautiful, with those big, flexing arms and that tight, muscular ass…

Kurt dropped his head, digging his teeth into Dave's shoulder.

Dave laughed and grabbed Kurt's ass again, squeezing tightly as he used his strong arm to guide Kurt's thrusts, his other hand massaging the shaft of Kurt's cock while his thumb made surprisingly gentle little circles along the head.

"Mmmm, yes, keep doin' that."

Dave continued to rub at the shaft of Kurt's dick with the heel of his palm as his dropped his fingertips down, pressing against Kurt's balls.

"Yeah. Yes, yes…" Kurt let out a rather unflattering groan, squeezing Dave's neck so hard that he was probably choking the man. But at the moment he just didn't really care. As long as he didn't die before Kurt *came*, dammit!

A thick finger trailed lightly down his crack, pressing between Kurt's buttocks, and he rolled his butt, moaning a little as the finger slowly worked its way deeper into his crack, firmly massaging at the muscles of his anus. Oh, yeeees. Yes, yes, yes. Such a good word. Yes.

The pressure on Kurt's cock increased as Dave's big hand tightened, and the tip of that finger began to work its way inside Kurt.

Oh, God. Kurt held his breath, eyes squeezed shut, using every last shred of self-control he had ever known to keep himself from wriggling his hips madly as Dave's thick finger moved around inside him, slipping in deeper and deeper, pressing from side to side and then in little circles.

"More," he moaned, finally giving up and thrusting, first forward, into Dave's big fist, and then back, shoving the finger deeper inside him. The heat between his legs was so good that it was agony, the need pounding in his veins as he gritted his teeth, breath coming in sharp gasps. Just a little more. Just a little…

Dave dropped his head, running his teeth lightly along Kurt's shoulders then clamping his lips down on his neck, sucking hard at the skin.

Oh, God, *yes!*

Kurt buried his face in Dave's neck, whimpering a little as there was a rush like a fucking flood between his legs and his limbs shuddered, all the need that had built and built and built erupting in one hard explosion. He collapsed against Dave's chest, moaning in satisfaction as he flexed his butt, squeezing at the finger still inside him as he leaned hard against the other man, breaths coming hard as he grinned lazily into Dave's shoulder.

So, so, sooo good.

They stood there, breathing hard, for what seemed like forever, leaning against the shower wall, Kurt's arms still wrapped around Dave's neck, the heat of the steam coming off the still running water nothing compared to the warmth of the hard body against him. Finally Kurt released his grip on Dave with a sigh, leaning back shakily as he licked his lips, swallowing deeply.

So, so, *so* hot.

They stared lazily into each other's eyes for a moment then Dave took a deep breath and slipped his finger out of Kurt. He shivered at the sensation, smiling as Dave's hands moved up to massage gently at Kurt's hips.

They just stood for another long moment, grinning stupidly at each other, then Dave let out a little huff of laughter, shaking his head.

Kurt raised an eyebrow, wondering idly if his after-sex grin looked at dopey as Dave's. "What?"

"Nothing," Dave said with a chuckle, squeezing lightly at Kurt's hips.

Kurt laughed. "Seriously, what?"

Dave's smile widened. "I was just thinking… it *this* is how you were planning to keep me up all night, Nurse Kurt… where did you go to medical school and how the hell can I get an appointment?"

Kurt burst into laughter, shaking his head. "And here *you* thought I was going to make you watch 'Say Yes to the Dress.'"

A pause. "You *aren't*, are you?"

Kurt chuckled and pushed fully away from the wall, taking a step back into the flow of water, smiling softly as he ran his eyes along the man's body.

Dave was definitely hot. But that still didn't explain this warm feeling in his chest. A special feeling. Like hot chocolate. Like donut holes. Like Journey.

Like his mother's kiss.

"Seriously, Fancy. You're *not* gonna make watch it, right?"

Kurt just grinned wickedly, rolling his shoulders as the hard stream of water massaged his back.

It was strange, and a little scary, the way Dave's voice warmed him inside.

"Oh, hell. You're gonna make me watch it."

But maybe that was okay. Because the truth was, Kurt sort of liked it. Like hot chocolate. Like donut holes. Like Journey.

And like his mother's kiss.


	14. Ch 14: Touchdown Dance

**A/N**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

**sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage**

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

**NOTE ON CONTENT/RATING:** THIS CHAPTER IS ADULT. PERIOD. If you ain't an adult, don't read. 'Cause that's ALL this chapter is. No story development. No plot. Just porn.

**Author's Note: **I'm really sorry this was such a long time coming. Over a week and a half late, I know. Honestly I kept putting it off because it's over 8,500 words of porn and I'm not that great at writing porn, hehe. But this was always meant to be the Totally Pornographic chapter of this fic and I couldn't just leave my poor story high and dry on the porn! Anyhoo, I'll try to be on time for the next chapter. Hope you enjoy. I know I write sex scenes a little oddly sometimes but I just can't write "perfect sex" considering that, as much as I love it, I think sex kinda looks like a bad circus act if you take a step back from the 'gonna orgasm' point of view and look at what you're *doing*, LOL.

**.**

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Another bottle of pills tipped off the edge of the mattress onto the floor as Dave arched his back, his big arms flexing as he lifted his hips slightly, breath catching at the tight feeling between his legs.

God, this felt soooo good. There was nothing quite like a pain killer high with a little sex on the side. Seriously, this should be a form of physical therapy. Something your insurance could cover. With lots and lots of really, really hot doctors. Like the doctors on TV. Gay doctors. Like… like House and Wilson! You didn't get much more 'gay doctor' than House and Wilson. Sexy. Doctors were sexy.

But not as sexy as Nurse Kurt. Nope, nope, nope. Of course, Kurt Hummel was a pretty fancy set of scrubs to live up to when it came to sexiness. Hell, Dave had tried for years to find someone who turned him on as much as his first crush had, and no one had ever even come close. They totally should have been on the Homecoming Court and been all power-couple dating like Quinn and Finn and gotten knocked up at sixteen then gotten married by shotgun—

Whoa. Dave blinked, lips turning up in an amused smile. Maybe these pills were affecting him a *little* more than he realized.

He chuckled then grinned at Kurt, not caring that he probably looked as dopey as hell. He felt as dopey as hell, and not just in a 'drugged up' sense.

Kurt was kneeling between Dave's spread thighs, naked except for the requisite purple scarf he was still wearing fashionably tossed around his neck. He smiled down at the bigger man stretched out on the bed amidst an array of orange pill bottles and a dozen or so boxes of condoms. Apparently one was required to have an complete spread of varying colors in condoms to match your scarf or your eyeshadow or your socks or your cock ring or whatever the hell you were still wearing when you decided to get down and dirty. Oh, and the flavor should also blend well with one's choice of Lipsmackers.

*That* one had resulted in Kurt spending twenty minutes explaining types of lipgloss to Dave. Personally, he just thought it sounded like a euphemism for smacking your dick against someone's lips. But he'd kept that one to himself. And would continue to keep it to himself until he'd been laid at least once.

But it was totally coming back out later. Later when Kurt's teeth would be nowhere near his testicles. Preferably when Azimio was around to laugh at it.

Unfortunately for Kurt, there was only one flavor of Extra Large Trojans at the pharmacy, which was what Dave liked to call Plasticy-Condom-Flavored. With a little semen on the side if things took a bad turn and your rubber broke. Hopefully Kurt wasn't *too* disappointed. They could probably order extra large condoms in every flavor from blueberry to cockroach on the Net. Hell, you could get just about anything pertaining to sex on the internet, including underaged boys from Russian and mail order brides from Thailand.

Of course, this was all based on the assumption that they would be *doing* this again. After all, they did live hundreds of miles apart and had exactly two things in common: the fact that they *had* dicks and the fact that they *liked* dicks. And Dave knew better than to try and fool himself. There were better options out there for men like Kurt. Men with style and fashion sense and VIP tickets to Lady GaGa concerts and A-List friends and a pass to red carpet events. Men who had the sort of elegant beauty that made Dave's breath catch and made him blush in embarrassment at his oversized body if he saw a reflection of himself next to them. He always managed to look like the awkward brother you hid away upstairs so that no one would see him in all his retarded glory.

But fuck all that, he was going to fuck *this*. Do now, think later. Not the best motto for like, as manly as it was, but it would work well for the situation at hand because Dave was going to get himself a piece of that beauty. Watching Kurt as the man ran hands downward along his smooth chest was like dipping your hands into a pond of cool, silvery water on a hot day and letting it run down your face. It was like the sweet taste of cookie dough spread across a pan in grandma's kitchen with the warm sun leaking in the window. It was like the feel of cracking bone as you rammed your shoulder into a lineman hard enough to send him flying and ran the ball halfway down the field.

Basically, just wonderful.

"God, you are so hot," Kurt murmured as he bent over, running his lips along Dave's nipple. The beautiful man made a sexy little moaning sound as he caught the little pink bud between his teeth, squeezing lightly.

Dave sucked in a sharp breath at the pressure, his skin tingling.

"So very, very hot," Kurt reiterated as he released the nipple, smiling against Dave's chest.

"Mmm," Dave said intelligently as he reached up to grab those slim hips with his big hands, massaging at them. So smooth. His cock twitched and he dragged the fingernails of one hand very lightly up Kurt's back, up and up, until his hand was twisting at the scarf around the other man's neck. Soft and silky, just like his skin.

Trust Fancy to be, well, *fancy*, even while getting his freak on.

"Hand me that box," Kurt said as he sat up suddenly, snapping his fingers in a way that made Dave shake his head in amusement. Such a commanding little bitch. He ignored him in favor of wrapping the end of the scarf around his palm and running it across Kurt's bare shoulders.

"Oh, you are so silly."

Dave made a frustrated sound as Kurt leaned back further, tugging his scarf from Dave's fingers.

"Scarf? Mine,"Kurt said, holding up the end as he smacked Dave lightly at one of his pecs, using the man's chest to push himself fully into a sitting position.

Dave might have found the loss of skin beneath his fingers more annoying had it not gifted him with such a beautiful view of the other man's cock, stretched out in arousal, hard and hot.

Kurt laughed as Dave stared at him with obvious lust and dropped a small hand down to run his fingers lightly along his own dick, rolling those slim shoulders dramatically as he let out a little moan.

Dave half-groaned, half-chuckled as he lazily palmed his own cock, eyes locked on Kurt as the smaller man moved, so elegantly yet so sexually. "Do practice that in the mirror, princess?"

Kurt scowled for a second then let out a throaty laugh, so deep and hoarse and sexual that it made Dave's breath catch, his groin throbbing. "No," Kurt said primly before flashing Dave an unusually open smile. "But I do practice that laugh…"

A drama queen to the very end.

"Well," Dave said, a little hoarsely, smiling back. "I think it was time well spent." He squeezed at his shaft, sighing at the tight contraction against his sensitive skin.

Kurt leaned forward, running a finger teasingly down Dave's chest, pausing just a few inches above the nest of hair between his legs. "Now hand me that box."

Boxes schmoxes. Dave wiggled his hips a little, using his hand to angle his cock towards Kurt, rubbing the tip against the man's fingers. Kurt giggled, shaking his head as he pulled away.

"Box, David. *Box.*"

David snorted. "What box, Fancy?"

"The condoms, stupid." Kurt flashed a grin that was just so elegantly *crude* that Dave was *damn* sure that the man practiced it in the mirror. That perfect blend of Marilyn Monroe, Betty Page, and Hugh Hefner in the days before his balls dried up just didn't come naturally to a person.

"They're by you," Dave replied as he reached out to trail a finger across the man's pale thigh.

Kurt smacked his hand away, rolling his eyes. "Not *these* condoms. *Those* condoms."

Dave snorted and grabbed a random box of condoms, tossing them at Kurt. He laughed at the appalled look on Fancy's face as they smacked him lightly against the forehead.

"Dammit, Dave!" Kurt put his hands on his hips in a way that probably would have looked more intimidating had his dick not been arching upward and his face flushing with arousal.

Kurt grabbed the condom box and tossed it back at Dave, scowling deeply when he caught it an inch from his face, a superior smirk on his face.

"Besides, those aren't the right ones either."

Dave tugged lightly at his cock as he ran his eyes up and down Kurt's body, tonguing his cheek as he stared at that tight, slim chest and those firm, slender hips.

"Okay, so which, exactly, of the hundred bucks worth of condoms we shelled out for are the right box? The lubed ones? The cherry ones? The ultra thins? The ribbed ones? The ones made to, like, heat up women's vaginas? I'm still confused on why we bought those. Seriously, man, we're lucky the old woman at the counter was, like, Betty White's long lost sister." He raised his voice. "'You know, son, my boyfriend didn't just *wear* Trojans, he *was* one!'"

Kurt sniffed. "Really, you would think people could mind their own business. Especially old ladies. What does she care?"

"Apparently she thought you were cute. She asked me what you taste like."

Kut's eyes widened. "She *what*? Dear God, she's was, like, eighty!" He paused, then cocked his head to one side, looking interested. "So what did you tell her?"

"Glitter."

"Excuse me?"

"I told her that you taste like glitter. Trust me, I know. I used to eat it in Kindergarten. I'm pretty sure my dad thinks that's what turned me gay. Now which *condoms* do you want, pretty pants? Or pretty in his lack of pants. Whatever."

Kurt shoved his nose in the air as he tugged pointedly on his scarf. Talk about acting like a queen. Anymore queen-like and the bitch would be shouting 'Off with their heads!'.

"Didn't we already *have* this discussion?" Kurt questioned in an exaggeratedly pompous way. "Fashion first, David!"

"Ah, okay," Dave said dryly, pushing himself up just enough to more easily sift through the mess of pill bottles and colorful little cardboard boxes. "I take it that means you want the purple ones." He grabbed the box of grape flavored rubbers.

"I want the *lavender* ones, Dave," Kurt said with a roll of the eyes. "My scarf is *lavender*, Dave. Not purple. Not plum. Not Mountain's Majesty Manifest. *Lavender.*"

Mountain's Majesty *what*?

"You know, Kurt," Dave said, trying and probably failing to hide his amusement. "As gorgeous and lovely as you are, there are still times that you remind me of the choir teacher at McKinley that got fired in sophomore year. The one who would make the jocks wear our football pants to detention then have us all stand at the front of the room and write 'I will tackle my burning urges, not other students.' over and over again on the whiteboard while he stared at our asses."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. "I swear to *God*, David," he said as he picked up the box of extra large condoms and began to fumble with the cardboard, "that if you ever compare me to Mr. Ryerson again that I will tie you to the bed, give you a three hour lap dance, and leave you to die of blue balls."

Yikes.

Kurt sighed and returned to his careful opening of the condom box. "Really," he said, making a tsking noise, "there is just no condom variety for you boys with disfiguring size. How *do* porn stars manage?"

Dave chuckled. "I dunno what politically correct porn you been watchin', Fancy, but since when do porn stars use condoms?"

Kurt paused, seeming to mull that over for a moment before smirking. "Good point." He finally tore open the package in an excessively neat way and carefully removed the condom.

Kurt bent forward slipping his hand along Dave's cock, gently pushing away the other man's hand as he ran his fist up and down the shaft.

Dave stretched as Kurt played with him for a few seconds, the feeling of slick, smooth fingertips against the sensitive flesh flooding Dave's body with a thick, warm feeling. So nice... But so slow... Needed more...

Kurt raised an amused eyebrow as Dave thrust his hips, shaking his head and smiling as he very carefully slid the condom down Dave's cock, stroking gently as he rolled it down.

"There you go," he murmured. "Not very fashionable, but it will do." Kurt giggled at the look on Dave's face.

"For fuck's sake," Dave groaned, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "Do you always do everything so *neatly*?"

The other man let out a laugh as he ran his thumb and forefinger across his bangs, smoothing the already perfectly coifed hair.

"Yes," Kurt replied, a wicked look appearing on his face like a Mardi Gras mask hiding the smile behind. Or maybe the smile was the mask and the evil look was the true man behind. Either way, it really, really turned Dave on.

"It has been said that I can be somewhat… controlling." Kurt bent over suddenly, placing an arm on either side of Dave's wide hips as he scooted back, slowly lowering his head until he was at face level with Dave's cock, eyes turned up to stare into Dave's, dark and lustful.

God Dave wanted some of that. He wanted some of that *bad*.

Dave groaned as Kurt rubbed his face against his cock, wrapping a slim hand around the base, the tight grip making it throb as the man ran his cheek up and down against it. Dave rubbed at his thighs, breath coming fast and Kurt turned his face just enough to touch Dave's dick with his lips.

"Like that?" Kurt murmured.

No, he hated it. That's why he was so hard that all thought processes had been officially transferred from brain to penis. He may have had a big head on both sides but he wasn't sure there was *ever* any particularly fast reasoning going on, never mind with Kurt gripping at the base of his cock so hard that it felt like a malfunctioning firework. A firework he'd really, really like to shoot.

"How about this?" With an almost pixie-ish look Kurt slipped his mouth over the tip, the sudden heat combined with the tight pressure of his lips sucking against his flesh making Dave moan and grab at the headboard with one hand, squeezing hard at the wood. Tongue against his head. "And this?" Teeth dragging lightly along his shaft. "And this?" That tone? Way, way, too innocent.

Teasing little bitch.

"Oh, God, so good," Dave moaned as Kurt sucked on the head of his cock, his voice raising with each word. So, very, very good.

Kurt giggled as he pulled back to run his tongue down Dave's shaft, one hand toying lightly with his balls. Dave arched his hips and clenched harder at the headboard.

"Yeah," Kurt said, voice low, "I think you like this."

Dave gave a hoarse laugh and drug his free hand through Kurt's so neat hair. If the princess was going to play teasing games, let him get a little rumpled too. No need to leave Dave and the sheets feeling jealous.

Kurt made a small sound of annoyance but apparently the state of one's dick did, on occasion, come before fashion, because he sucked in another inch of Dave's cock, face tilting until the tip was pressed hard against the inside of his cheek. Dave rubbed at the back of Kurt's neck as he began to bob his head, taking a little more of the hard flesh with each thrust. The slick wetness of his cheek against the head of his dick made a rush of satisfaction flow through Dave's body.

Dave ran his fingers through Kurt's soft hair again as the smaller man pulled back, laying a sloppy kiss at the end of Dave's cock and then sliding his tongue along the underside, making Dave's cock twitch and drawing a groan from the bigger man.

Kurt pulled back a little and Dave whined at the loss of hot wetness against him. "Don't stop," he said, more of a moan than a statement. "Suck it. Please, suck it!"

Kurt chuckled and began to toy with the hard cock in his hands, dragging fingernails very lightly across it and thumbing at the head. "Oh, I'm gonna suck it."

Why did his voice suddenly sound so damn much like a Disney villain?

Dave thrust his hips and Kurt laughed, squeezing at the bigger man's balls, rolling them in his hand. Dave moaned.

"I'm gonna suck it all, big boy. And you're going to beg me for it." The words were breathy, and a little hoarse, and absolutely, terrifyingly hot.

Beg him for it? If that was what it took to feel that hot stickiness around him again then fuck yeah, he'd beg for it. Dave may have been a macho man, but he wasn't too proud to get on his knees if that was what it took to slip his prick back between Fancy's soft, shiny lips.

"Pleeease," he said, tugging Kurt's head back toward his cock. "Put it back in."

That long, delicate hand slid down Dave's shaft again as Kurt dropped his head, directing the tip of his penis back into his mouth, slowly slipping it back into his mouth.

Dave arched his hips as the suction against his cock increased, watching Kurt's slightly tossled hair as the man's head moved in an elegant sliding motion, up and down, steady and smooth. Good God, Fancy even looked like he was dancing when he was giving a damn blow job. How the hell did someone do everything so *beautifully?*

From glimpses he'd caught of himself in mirrors while fucking, Dave tended to look more like he was head banging than dancing. Or just doing something that would be really slapstick comedic, like it was straight of of the Three Stooges, if it weren't so damn sexual. Of course, most sex looked like it could be the adult version of a Three Stooges skit. Primal? Yes. Raw? Yes. Elegant? Not so much. Unless, of course, you were Kurt Hummel the Dancing Queen.

"Oh, shit," Dave muttered as another inch or so of cock slipped into Kurt's mouth, enough length that it was pressing against the other man's throat. God, he wanted to thrust into that mouth, hard and fast…

Dave slapped his other hand on the headboard as well, gripping it hard as he gritted his teeth, using every last drop of will power he had to keep his burning, eager body from fucking madly into that tight hole.

Another downside of having a big dick. They could make a thousand pornos about it but, in the end, people did not tend to appreciate having your oversized dick shoved down their throats. As had been pointed out by various one night stands in college before Dave had finally given up and embraced the fact that having over nine inches of thick dick rutting down your throat might be sexy in theory but, in reality, it just kind of left your mouth tasting like bile.

But, hey, he should probably be grateful, 'cause if that chick he'd flashed was an example, a big cock did not impress the ladies as much as it did the dudes in gay bars. If he was straight, he might *never* have gotten laid.

God bless homosexual men and their fascination with excessive largeness as a sign of virility and good fucking and rainbow stickers on your car.

Dave made a slightly aggravated sound as Kurt suddenly pulled away, mouth sliding off of the head of his dick with a soft popping noise.

Why was he stopping? God... "Don't stop," he begged, wiggling his hips, his hard cock thrusting into the air.

Kurt laughed and crawled up along Dave's body on hands and knees until his nose was pressed against the other man's, a dangerous twinkle in his eyes. "Wanna fuck my face, big boy?" he sort of crooned, his breath soft against Dave's skin.

Dave made a desperate little noise, pumping his hips upward so that his hard cock could rut against Kurt's leg.

"Is that a yes?"

Dave made what could only be described as a 'no shit' face and Kurt giggled.

"Well, *is* it?"

"Yes," Dave said huskily as he reached up and pulled the other man down for a deep kiss, his tongue massaging Kurt's. "Yes," he said again as they pulled apart, lips still brushing lightly.

"Yes, what?"

Dave gave a hoarse laugh. Making sure his lessons were learned, was he? "Yes, please." To the power of infinity.

Kurt smirked and shook his head. "Yes, please, what? What do you want?"

Dave made a frustrated sound. God, the bitch liked to tease. Fucking Fancy. "I want you to suck me," Dave said, using his grip on the headboard to lift his upper body, rubbing against the other man's hard chest.

Dave started slightly as Kurt's smacked his face, raising an eyebrow as the little princess sat back with his nose in the air, scowling deeply.

"David, David, David! That wasn't what I asked you if you wanted!"

Dave would have groaned if he wasn't afraid that Miss Tease-a-Lot might decide to find greener pastures and leave him very high and very dry. Of course, maybe he shouldn't be complaining considering that he hadn't been *this* turned on in… well, it had been awhile.

"Wha…?" Not a very intelligent response, but it was the best he could do, his eyes locked on the pale, reddening cock rising from Kurt's delicate hips, drops of pre-cum leaking from the tip.

Kurt laughed, staring down at Dave with eyes that betrayed his calm control. Fancy could play his games all he wanted, but Dave saw how that chest was rising a little too quickly, the sweat that was building on his hot skin, the way his cheeks were darkening with arousal. Not to mention the way his cock twitched every time his eyes ran across Dave's body. God, how he'd love to feel that dick pressing into him…

"You wanna fuck my face?" Kurt said, voice coquettish and innocent even as his eyes shone with arousal and little pants came from those glossy lips. He ran fingers along Dave'd dick, the touch so soft it was painful.

"Yes!" Dave said, pressing his hands hard into the headboard, the frustration making him want to scream. "Yes, yes, yeees! That's what I said!"

"Nooo, you said you wanted me to suck it." Kurt giggled in a way that sort of reminded Dave of the Mad Hatter, though the look on his face was more reminiscent of the Cheshire Cat. And his wardrobe was pretty much pure Alice. Corsets anyone?

"Come on, biiiig boy." Kurt stretched upward, raising his arms above his head as he flexed his muscles, rolling his shoulders in a very theatrical way. Yet another move he probably practiced in the mirror. Not that it made it any less stunning.

Dave released the headboard and reached for Kurt, grabbing him by the neck and dragging him downward. "Yes," he said through gritted teeth. "Yes, I wanna fuck your face, you irritating little bitch!" He paused, then smirked. "Pretty please?"

A muffled snort came from Kurt as Dave pressed the smaller man hard against his chest, nuzzling at that sweet smelling hair.

"Okay," Kurt said simply, a wicked grin on his face. He winked then pushed Dave's hands away, somehow managing to execute a graceful roll off the side of the bed that would have ended with Dave falling on his fat ass if he had tried to do it.

Dave pushed himself up, knocking another half dozen pill bottles off the bed as he swung his legs over the edge of the mattress in a much less graceful, but ultimately as effective, move. He spread his thighs with a moan as Kurt reached up to grab at the shaft of the man's cock, rising up on his knees as he directed it into his mouth.

Dave wiped at the sweat building up at his temples as Kurt looked up at him, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. God, the man was so beautiful, from his narrow shoulders to his firm chest to his little pink nipples to his delicate hips to his long, pale legs. So beautiful. And so, so, so fucking hot.

"Mmmmmm," Kurt said around Dave's cock as he slipped the head into his mouth, teeth brushing against it lightly, the rough sensation making Dave jerk and moan.

Dave let out a whining noise as Kurt fed more of his cock into his mouth, going deeper and deeper into that slick, hot hole. His hips jerked automatically as he felt the tip of his cock rub up against the back of Kurt's throat and the other man suppressed a gag by swallowing lightly. The contraction of Kurt's throat around the head of his cock made Dave dig fingers in his own short curls with one hand, yanking at them to keep himself from pumping crazily into Kurt's mouth. God, so good. So, so good.

Dave gritted his teeth and crossed his other arm over his chest, the sharp feeling of fingertips digging into his bicep helping him hold back the urge to just grab the other man's head and shove thoughtlessly into that slick heat.

"Oh, yes, yes, God, yeeees…" Dave's cock began to slide up and down in Kurt's mouth as the man's head bobbed between his legs and he sighed in satisfaction, the stop and go feeling of wet suction sending waves of pleasure crashing through him.

Kurt groaned a little around Dave's dick and raised his arm, his delicate hand trailing across the light hair on Dave's chest, digging polished nails into his pecs.

He thrust once then gripped his arm harder, forcing his hips into submission. "Kurt…"

Dave let out a choked sound as the warmth suddenly pulled away and the smaller man stretched up, smacking him lightly on the thigh.

"Stop being so damn controlled," Kurt said, sounding amused. "I have plans to make you cry, so just let it all go, big boy."

Dave gave a hoarse laugh. "Make me cry? You're gonna make me cry if you keep stopping to *chat,* princess," he replied, breathing heavily as he watched Kurt tugging at his own cock, those slightly swollen lips curved into a dangerous smile. "I do try not to choke people with my cock, though."

"You need to let go. I bet you I can take it all." *Dave* needed to let go? Superior little bitch. Always in control, even when his face was flushed and his body was burning and his cock was throbbing. Always the perfect little Fancy. Heaven forbid we be human.

Hm. Dave smirked. He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But it *would* be really amusing. Ah, what the hell?

"You got spit on your chin, Fancy."

Dave laughed aloud at the horrified look on Kurt's face as he wiped at the saliva that had dribbled down his chin. Seriously, Fancy *totally* practiced in front of a mirror. No one who just got down on the floor and did it would be so appalled at the realization that sucking dick had left them wet on the face, of all things.

Princesses. He wondered idly if Blaine had been just as bad. They'd probably had a mirror on their goddamn ceiling. Seriously, Kurt needed to learn to *relax* and just get it the fuck on.

Kurt wiped away the last of the spit, rolling his eyes. "Seriously, for a Neanderthal you sure are Ms. Manners when it comes to coc ksucking. Can't you just fuck? Isn't that what cavemen do best?"

Dave held up his hands, a laugh escaping his lips as Kurt glared. "I was just being *polite*—"

"Be polite at dinner parties! Fuck my mouth when I tell you to!"

Sir, yes, sir. Dave grinned and reached out, pulling Kurt's head toward him as he bent over, tipping the smaller man's chin up.

"Will you just chill, dude?" He kissed him as deeply and sloppily as he could, sucking at Kurt's lips as he ran a hand through the man's hair, tossling it beyond repair, then turning his hand to run his tongue lightly up the side of Kurt's face.

"You messed… up… my hair," Kurt said through deep, labored breaths, staring up at him with wide, blown eyes. "Again."

"You look hot like that," Dave murmured as he kissed him again. "Really fucking hot." Kiss. "With your hair all crazy." Kiss. "And your face all red." Kiss. "And sweat on your palms." He grabbed his hand, winding their fingers together. "And your cock all hard." Another kiss.

Kurt moaned deeply and rubbed his erection against Dave's leg. "God, Dave, you're so sexy."

"But nowhere near you, baby," Dave replied as Kurt sucked down the head of his cock, reaching out to run his fingers through that ruffled hair as he thrust upward into the tugging warmth of Kurt's mouth.

So good. How could it feel so good? Dave thrust again, moaning at the light slapping sound as his cock hit the back of Kurt's throat. The smaller man pulled back, staring up with lusty eyes as he sucked in a deep breath and slipped his head down Dave's big dick, inch after inch until his lips were locked around the base. Dave cried out, holding Kurt's head against him for a few seconds while he sucked steadily at him, then moaned as the man pulled back, breathing heavily as he palmed his own dick.

Dave thrust his hips again, desperately wanting to be back in that heat again, and Kurt caught the tip in his mouth, apparently no longer so worried about the spit running down his chin as he bobbed up and down on Dave's cock, so deep, watching with those smart ass eyes as Dave rolled his shoulders, moaning.

"Oh, Kurt!" Dave shouted, dropping his head back as he began to shove himself madly into Kurt's mouth, grabbing at the man's hair as he thrust in with wet slaps.

For a few minutes Dave just thrust into his mouth, his whole body tingling with pleasure, heart beating crazily as he fucked Kurt's face, then the smaller man leaned forward, catching Dave's hips with his hands and pulling back with a wicked look on his face.

Dave moaned and slapped his dick a couple of times against the side Kurt's face, letting out a choked sound. "Don't stop. Pleeease, don't stop!"

Kurt laughed, a wild, definitely unpracticed sound that made Dave moan and writhe a little as a rush of primal need ran through him. The smaller man dug his fingers hard into Dave's shoulders and used them to levy himself up until he was sitting in Dave's lap, his cock pressing against Dave's abs as Dave's dick pressed into his buttocks.

Dave groaned at the feeling. He was so, so, so fucking hard. Dammit!

"Wanna fuck you," Kurt said through harsh pants, shoving Dave hard in the chest. "Wanna fuck you!"

Dave fell back, scooting up toward the head of the mattress as he began to nod rapidly. "Yes, yes, yes, yes! Fuck me. Fuck me!"

Kurt flashed his teeth, crawling after Dave, his tight butt in the air as he grabbed the package of grape flavored condoms, ripping it open and tossing it to the side as he tore open his *lavender* colored rubber.

Dave chuckled hoarsely, palming himself as Kurt rolled the condom down his dick.

Little miss fancy pants. Always gotta be soooo fashionable, even when your hair is a mess and there's spit on your face and your lips are swollen and your eyes are so wide you look like you just saw a ghost. Hmph.

Without even really thinking about it Dave reached out and grabbed at Kurt's scarf, yanking it off. "Can I have this?" He smirked. "Thanks."

Kurt let out a howl of outrage and leapt at him. Dave grabbed him around the waist, holding the struggling man in place as he waved the scarf just out of his reach.

"Give that back, dumbass! That is my sexual fashion accessory!"

Dave laughed. "Your sexual fashion accessory? That sounds more like a sparkly pink crotch massager than a scarf to me!"

Kurt smacked his hands down on Dave's big chest, yanking at the light hairs. "Let me go! I may not carry a rape whistle up my butt like Rachel Berry does, but that doesn't mean I won't bite your nipple off!"

Dave let out a little shout and released the man as he bent down, assumedly do just what he had said. Kurt lunged for the scarf, grabbing it and, thankfully, leaving Dave's nipple intact.

He chuckled. "I'm sorry, but I do not see how that is a sexual fashion accessory, Fancy."

"Oh yeah?" Kurt said, raising an eyebrow. "Well watch this, smart ass." He moved quickly, wrapping the thin piece of silk around Dave's dick, causing the man to yell and clumsily try to crawl back farther on the bed, his back hitting the head board.

Kurt cracked up as he followed him, falling forward as he tied the scarf into a messy bow around Dave's big cock.

"Stop it!" Dave said, laughing.

"I don't thiiiink so!" Kurt said through giggles as he waved his hands, making a little bow. "Now that is what I call sexual fashion!"

"You so did NOT just put a big purple bow on my dick!"

"Oh, I SO just did!" Kurt wiped at tears of laughter. "I have got to get a picture of this! Hand me my phone." Kurt started to climb over Dave, headed for the bedside table where their phones, pocket change, and another couple boxes of condoms were sitting. Oh, no way was he letting Fancy get a picture of *this.*

Dave caught Kurt again, holding the laughing man back.

"Hell, no!"

"Aw, c'mon, baby!" Kurt said, preening in Dave's arms. "For the scrapbook, yeah?"

Dave snorted. "I thought we were fucking, not scrapbooking."

Kurt laughed again and pointed a finger in his face. "I *never* miss a chance to scrapbook. This will go on page 69: the first time I ever tied a bow on Dave Karofsky's penis!" He smirked. "Better than wedding pictures, baby. Photos first. And *then* I'll fuck you."

Dave let out a chuckle and released him. "Okay, okay, yeah, whatever. But I swear to God, if this just *happens* to end up on Azimio's phone, I will break into your house at night and turn all your scarves into confetti."

"And then live a very sad existence when I turn your *balls* into confetti." The camera on Kurt's iPhone made little clicking noise as Dave posed dramatically.

A few more clicks and Kurt let out a sultry laugh. "Okay," he said, voice lowering as he tossed the phone back onto the table, crawling toward Dave. "*Now* I'm going to fuck you."

"About time," Dave muttered, stretching out on the bed with one hand wrapped around his cock, enjoying the feel of the silky scarf rubbing against his dick.

Kurt giggled, smacking at his hand. "Stop that! You're going to ruin my scarf!"

Dave shook his head, smirking. "Not a chance. This way we match!" He nodded toward the colorful condom on Kurt's dick. "We're both lavender. Gotta, like, coordinate colors, right?"

Kurt stared at him for a long moment, obviously trying hard for a serious face, then they both cracked up, Kurt collapsing onto Dave's chest. He reached up and wiped the tears of laughter off of Kurt's face with his thumb as he pulled him close so that he could press his lips to the other man's.

"You know," Dave said quietly as he rubbed his face against Kurt's, "you are really amazing."

Kurt's lips curled up into a smile. "You're pretty fantastic yourself, lover."

Dave smiled back, trying to ignore the slight pang in his chest. They said it was better to love and lose than never love at all, but, considering that just about all of his relationships had ended in 'lost,' he really wasn't so sure anymore. Even his identity as 'son' hung on a fucking string most of the time. But hell, at least he'd have good times to remember, as short lived as they might be.

Kurt dropped his head, teeth digging lightly into Dave's neck, causing the man to writhe, a soft moean escaping his lips.

Dave ran a hand idly up and down Fancy's back as Kurt sucked gently at his skin. So beautiful. Soft and pale. He cupped one of those round, tight buttocks in his hand, squeezing it lightly.

Kurt arched his back, flexing his tight butt. "Turn over," he whispered into Dave's ear as he rolled off his chest, stroking at Dave's bicep.

Dave obeyed with a smile, flexing the arm Kurt was holding as he turned onto his stomach, balancing his weight to one side as he pulled a leg upward, the movement stretching his buttocks apart.

"So sexy." Kurt's voice was deeper than usual and Dave's cock jumped at the tone.

He turned his face to the side to watch as Kurt crawled over, skin glowing in the low lamp light as he knocked aside pill bottles. Dave humped the bed lightly, moaning at the roughness of the sheets in contrast to the smooth silk of Kurt's scarf against his member.

Kurt settled in behind him, straddling his leg as he gently prodded at Dave's butt cheeks with one hand, lightly ruffling the man's hair almost lovingly with the other. "You are so beautiful."

Dave chuckled. Kurt was so cute. "I bet you say that to all the boys you're about to stick your dick in."

"No, I mean it," Kurt said, his low voice managing to be both serious and warm at the same time. "You really are a beautiful person, Dave."

Dave blinked once then turned his face so that it was pressed into the mattress, swallowing down the lump that had risen in his throat. Why were the things he wanted the most always the ones that came and went as fast as a snowfall in Texas?

There was a strange wetness along his back and Dave sucked in a sharp breath as he felt Kurt's tongue run down, down until it was plunging between his butt cheeks, dragging further and further until he felt the tip massaging at the muscles around his anus.

"God, Kurt," he said into the mattress, a shiver running down his spine from the feeling of thick wetness slipping into him. After a few stroke it pulled back and Dave moaned.

There was a chuckling behind him and the sensation was replaced by a much more filling presence as a finger slid inside him, the cool wetness quickly warming within the heat of his body. Dave raised his hips toward the pressure as the finger slid in and out of his passage, massaging gently within him.

"How does that feel?" Kurt asked, lightly running nails across Dave's broad back.

Like a suburb of Heaven. "Good," Dave replied with a little groan, rolling his hips round and round. "More. Please."

Another finger slipped inside him, scissoring, and Kurt settled a hand on Dave's arm, the sharp tug at his shoulder tilting his weight until he rolled onto his side, one leg still drawn up, Kurt's body pressing against his back, warm and firm.

There was a kiss between his shoulder blades as the fingers began to thrust roughly in and out of him, the feeling strange and wonderful.

"Feel good?"

Considering the way Dave's dick was throbbing, he was pretty sure the question could be construed as rhetorical. But still worth the effort of answering.

"Yeeees."

"Hm…"

Dave scowled as the pressure disappeared, then moaned and rolled his hips as something much larger began to press against his entrance.

Dave rolled his shoulders to loosen them and took a deep, slow breath, relaxing his muscles as much as he could to allow the wet tip of Kurt's cock to slide inside him.

Kurt buried his face against Dave's back, muffling his moans, and Dave let out a groan at the hot, aching feeling in his ass. He clenched his teeth, taking deep, steadying breaths as the mix of deep pleasure and burning ache overloaded his senses. He wrapped a hand around the throbbing tip of his cock, squeezing rhythmically at the over-sensitive flesh.

"God, God, God, uh-huh, uh-huh, ooooh, yes!" he cried out, not caring that he was making about as much sense as a Teletubby on crack. "More, please, Ku—"

'_Call a sex line. LIKE A BOSS! Cry deeply. LIKE A BOSS! Demand a refund! LIKE A BOSS! Eat a bagel! LIKE A BOSS!'_

Kurt jumped, causing his cock to slip in farther as he half sat up, head jerking toward the bedside table. "What the hell?"

Dave groaned at the pressure between his cheeks, arching back toward the feeling even as he reached out blindly toward the bedside table, grabbing for the phone. Damn, damn, damn!

Seriously, was his father psychic? He couldn't call during dinner or video games or the eleven o'clock news. No, he had to call while Dave was *fucking.*

"'s my phone."

He could practically hear Kurt's eyes rolling. "Of course it is." The warm fullness in Dave's ass began to recede but he moved his hips violently, letting out a little whimper as he slid back onto the length of Kurt's cock.

"No, just a minute… won't take but a sex. Sec. Not sex. I mean it won't take but a sec."

A huff of laughter. "You have got to be kidding me."

Dave blushed. "'S my dad's ringtone. Prolly wants to know if I'm dead. Don't have the best, ah, relationship. Gotta answer… Or he'll be pissed… for a year…"

"Dave, you have a dick in your ass."

Dave's cock jumped at the words. No shit, Sherlock. He took a deep breath and hit the answer button. "Hi dad."

Kurt snickered behind him as Dave put on an unusually chipper voice, wiping at the sweat on his brow. But what could he do? If he didn't answer his dad would assume he was ignoring him and there would be arguing and words like 'utter disappointment' and his mom crying and Christmas would be ruined and it would all be his fault. Obviously.

"David, I saw that you had to leave the game." His father's voice was as emotionless as ever.

"Uh, yeah, it was a pretty hard hit—" Dave clamped a hand over his mouth to hold back a shout as Kurt suddenly pulled out and thrust back into him. Talk about a hard hit.

"I know that you are a busy man," the disdain in his father's voice was apparent, "but your mother has been worried. Perhaps you could take some time away from the fast life to call and let your family know you are okay?"

Asshole. A good description of what his father was as well as what Kurt had just unceremoniously shoved himself into. Little bitch.

"Um, yeah, I'm sorry, Dad," he said, coughing to cover up other noises he badly wanted to make. "I, uh, have to go. I'm, uh, I'm—"

"Having sex with a man," Kurt said dryly, causing Dave to shoot him a 'what the fuck?' look even as he burst into fake laughter.

"Hahahahaha! You're so funny, man! This is my dad, dude! Don't joke like that!"

"Excuse me? What is going on?"

"Nothing, Dad. Just one of my friends being gross. I took some painkillers and so I feel kind of—"

Kurt mouthed the word 'horny' and Dave rolled his eyes.

"—Loopy. I'll call you later. Okay? Great. Bye bye now." Dave hit the off button and twisted around to glare at Kurt, who was smirking at him with great amusement.

"Dude! My dad and I are on bad enough terms as it is. Must we encourage the insanity?"

Kurt laughed. "Hey, you're the one who answered a phone call from your *dad* while we're *fucking*!" He thrust himself into Dave again to illustrate his point and the man groaned, grabbing at his cock and stroking along the shaft.

"Kurt… you are really… a bitch… sometimes…" He arched his back as Kurt wrapped an arm around him, pushing Dave's hand away and replacing it with his own, stroking roughly at teh shaft.

"Yeah, sorry," Kurt said, moaning a little as he pulled back out and pressed in again, filling Dave deeply, a rush of heat flashing through him as Kurt's cock stroked his prostate. "Didn't… mean… for it to… come out… that loud."

"Mmm… Come loud… Yes. Come. Loud."

"I think… you missed… most of that sentence… big boy," Kurt said, panting, as he slid in and out of Dave's ass.

"Faster," Dave moaned, using both hands to jerk at his cock. "FASTER!"

The smaller man hooked a leg over Dave, using his weight to tip the big man back onto his stomach, trapping his arms beneath him as Kurt angled his dick into Dave's butt.

"Faster," Kurt replied, apparently in agreement, because he groaned and began to shove in and out a little frantically, loud smacking noises filling the room as his hips slapped against Dave's ass cheeks.

"So tight!" Kurt dug his hands into Dave's shoulder and the bigger man fumbled beneath him until his hips were raised enough that he could massage his prick.

"More," Dave said, hands working himself as he arched up into the slapping thrusts, waved of pleasure rolling over him every time Kurt slammed back in, filling him so deeply. "More!"

The bed began to rock back and forth as Kurt pounded into Dave, not bothering to pause between the hard, almost violent thrusts. Dave began to hump madly at the sheets as his arousal overcame him, the need to go, go, go, come, come, come, then, then, then making him want to scream. He let out a sob then bit at the sheet, face crinkling up as a pleasure so intense that it was almost painful-in a wonderful, wonderful way-pounded his senses.

"Oh, God, I'm gonna come, gonna, gonna…" So close! So fucking close! Down, cock into the mattress, up onto Kurt's hard cock, so fast, so fast, down up down up down up… "YES!" He let out a cry and threw his head back, shoulders arching as the pressure in his cock erupted, his whole body feeling like it was on fire. "Oh God, oh God, yes!"

Kurt cried out as the orgasm made Dave's body clench, catching his dick tight inside him. "Oh my God!"

Dave's body collapsed limply onto the sheets and Kurt began to hump madly at him, barely pulling his cock out an inch before his shoved it back into Dave's hole, making the man moan in pleasure even through the lazy afterglow.

He laughed a little as Kurt pounded into him, making little whimpering sounds, and arched his ass up, squeezing his buttocks around the other man's cock as he pushed inside.

"Come on, baby," Dave said, voice deep and mellow as he rolled his hips up and down. "Come on, pretty baby."

"Daaaamn," Kurt said, his voice hoarse through heavy pants. "Oh, daaamn, Dave." He dug his nails into Dave's hips as he thrust, a frustrated sound coming from him.

"C'mon, baby," Dave said again, clenching and unclenching the muscles in his rectum rhythmically as Kurt worked inside him. "That's it. C'mon, Fancy. Fuck me, baby. Fuck me!"

A choking sound came from behind him and Kurt's grip on his hips tightened, legs clenching against Dave's thighs as a shudder ran through him. "God, I love you! Yes! YES!" One more hard shove and he collapsed down on top of the bigger man, his body literally shaking as he stared at Dave, breath coming hard and sweat running down his face.

Dave let out a satisfied groan at the sight, stretching his body as he gazed into Kurt's face, a lazy smile on his face.

So, so good.

Kurt moaned again and slid, very inelegantly, off of Dave's back, scooting up on the mattress until they were laying eye to eye.

"Mmmm," Dave said as he reached out to clumsily stroke at the other man's red face. "You so beautiful, Kurt."

"Mmmmm," Kurt replied, moving in closer so that he could wrap an arm around Dave, nuzzling at his shoulder. "You too, Dave."

There was silence as they lay there, letting the afterglow settle over them as they basked in the relaxed satisfaction that hot sex left in its stead so that you wouldn't miss it *too* much before you were able to get it up again.

After a few minutes, sinking deeper into mellow exhaustion, then Dave gave a tired laugh as he forced open his half-lidded eyes, reaching out to run his hand through Kurt's messy hair. "We better sit up, baby, or I'm gonna fall asleep, and I think that's against your nursing vows."

Kurt laughed and slowly pushed himself up on one elbow, smiling tiredly at Dave. "Yeah… We wouldn't want that." He gave a sexy little groan as he stretched, then laid a light, gentle kiss on Dave's lips. "Gotta keep you awake…" He shook his head, looking amused. "Though we may have to find a new way to keep your eyes open 'cause I'm gonna need a break after that. And maybe a couple of energy drinks."

Dave snorted and rolled over onto his back, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "Well, I guess we could always watch 'Say Yes to the Dress.'"

Kurt laughed. "So basically all I have to do to keep my domain over the television is fuck you?"

Dave chuckled. "Fancy, you fuck me like that and you can do whatever the hell you want." He raised an eyebrow and tugged at the bow still tied around his now limp cock. "Hell, you got me in a bow tie, didn't you?"

Kurt let out an evil laugh. "Whatever I want? Really? I'll have to remember that the next time I go to get my balls waxed."

Dave blinked, then winced, a pained look on his face as he not-so-subtly covered his balls with his hands. "I should really learn to keep my mouth shut, shouldn't I?"

Kurt smirked and tugged at the scarf wrapped around Dave's dick. "Catching on to that, huh?" He leaned over, kissing along the man's jaw line. "So, tell me, Cowboy. Was the ride worth leaving the game?"

"Well," Dave said in a serious voice. "You know it's all about winning." He grinned. "And I'm pretty sure that I scored."

"Oh?" Kurt said, cuddling against him, his back warm against Dave's chest. "I think I was the one who touched the down."

Dave snickered as he wrapped his arms around that delicate body. "Fancy, how bout you leave the sports metaphors to me?" He kissed the other man lightly. "*I'll* make the touchdowns. And you, princess, can do the touchdown *dance*."


	15. Ch 15: Unnecessary Roughness

**FYI**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

******Author's Notes:** 'Azimio' is Az's last name in this fanfic because when it was begun we did not know what his last name was and people referred to them as 'Azimio and Karofsky'. So that's just part of the AU. :) Unnecessary roughness is a penalty, btw, not just something I like during sex. Though I *do* like it during sex! P

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**Chapter 15: Unnecessary Roughness**

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Elegance. It was an elegant *word*, as redundant a definition as that might seem. Poised and coiffed, graceful and deliberate. Kurt prided himself on his elegance.

Sitting butt naked on the bed, staring numbly down at a pile of sex-stained sheets was *not* particularly elegant. Or poised. Or coiffed. Or any other snobby, high browed words. It was really kind of pitiful. Plus, he was cold. But he didn't really give a fuck.

Kurt had never been ditched before.

It was like being stood up on a date, only backward. Abandoned. Discarded. Dumped. He couldn't think up anymore synonyms off the top of his head. He could use his iPhone to look up some more, but that seemed like a lot of effort. Especially because there was no one in the room to scream them at.

He was alone.

Not that Kurt hadn't pulled a few 'morning after taxi runs' in his days. The fifty year old bald man with the Hitler mustache. The three hundred pound guy wearing a Rainbow Brite costume. The midget with the feathered tiara.

One should never consume large amounts of alcohol during Pride Parades. It led to bad times and large therapy bills.

But to be the victim of it *himself*? Unthinkable. Who would ditch Kurt Hummel, leaving him alone in a cheap motel room like street corner trash? Sneaking away in the pre-dawn shadows, skulking off like a gay comic book villain, with Kurt's pride and dignity stuffed under his villain-cape?

Dave Karofsky, apparently. Demolition Dave. He had definitely demolished something. The 'something' being, of course, Kurt's pride. Not his *heart* or anything sappy-silly like *that.* Totally just his pride. Which, really, should be a felony offense. Kurt considered his pride one of his most valuable assets, after all.

He blinked rapidly. But not at tears. Kurt just felt like blinking a lot at the moment. Please, *tears*? Why would he cry? They were *men*, after all. Men had needs. They were *gay* men. Gay men had meaningless sex all the time, right? And if this had felt like more than a one night stand, well… that was just ridiculous. Positively ridiculous. An opportunity had arisen and they had taken advantage of it. There was nothing wrong with that.

It wasn't like he was one of those prudes (lesbians) who thought that every date was the beginning of a new and wonderful relationship (lesbians) and that one night of fabulous fuckery meant anything more than some good, old fashioned homosexual pleasure (lesbians). Kurt wasn't that PC and he certainly didn't live on the Isle of Lesbos.

He didn't even like Melissa Etheridge.

The note had been scrawled on the back of the emergency exit instructions. That was all he'd warranted. A hastily penned note on the back of a paper telling him how to evacuate the Motel 6 if some fat fucker fell asleep with a cigarette still in his mouth and set his prostitute's hair on fire.

Even in his goodbye notes Dave Karofsky managed to be a cheap fucker. Kurt gritted his teeth as he stared down at it.

'Didn't want to wake you up. Needed to go. It was great to see you.' A mess of scribbles that Kurt had spent twenty minutes trying unsuccessfully to decipher and then, 'Thanx for everything.' More scribbles. ':), Dave'

Such politesse. 'Smiley Face, Dave.' What did that even *mean*? That he would miss Kurt? That it was good sex? That he was happy it was over? That he wanted to see him again? That he was planning to invade China with a troupe of trapeez artists and seventeen dancing monkeys? That—

Okay, he needed to stop. Kurt was always proud to associate himself with the ladies, but his headspace was getting a little too teenage girl for comfort. He was starting to sound like Rachel Berry, for God's sake.

Why the hell was he so upset anyway? And even *he* had to admit he *was* upset. There were no scarves within reach, his hair had dried semen in it, he hadn't even bothered with his morning moisturizing routine… all definitive signs of a breakdown.

But that was okay. He could be upset. Dave had wounded him. Just in the *pride*, of course. It wasn't like he was sitting there crying over it.

Kurt rubbed at his suddenly moist cheek. Damn allergies. The pollen in Cleveland was *terrible.*

No, he wasn't upset. He was angry! Yes, angry! Angry was good. Not upset. Or sad. Not that there was anything to be *sad* about. It was just *offensive*, really. Kurt was a keeper, not a sleeper! That was obvious.

Kurt was beautiful, talented, charismatic, and charming. Who wouldn't want to be with him? To just take off after a night of love making with a man like him? Absurd. Unthinkable! Yes, he was just offended. It wasn't hurt, or disbelief, or soul wrenching agony. It was just anger.

Kurt let out something half between a sob and a laugh.

This could not be happening. This… feeling. Like an unexpected snow storm that brought along the kind of chill that reached to the bone, numbing your extremities and making you shiver. It wasn't right. Kurt had felt this before. Felt it and *sworn* that he would make sure he never felt it again. Or at least, not for a long, *long* time.

He just felt so *cold.* As if a warmth that had been burning inside him, warming him, was just gone. A tiny version of the roaring bonfire of heat that had been suddenly and swiftly extinguished the day his mom had died. A spark, maybe, that had never had the chance to develop into more, leaving him with an engine that couldn't start. Cold metal. Like cold winds. Just… cold.

Kurt crossed his arms over his bare chest, hugging himself. It wasn't particularly cold in the room.

He should not be shivering like this. That warm place… it was reserved seating-no shirt, no shoes, no service. Which excluded guys who fucked and ran since they were rarely wearing shirts. Even Blaine hadn't gotten to curl up in that warmest place, adding his heat to the room. Kurt kept the door firmly shut and only the people he loved most were allowed. The people who were so close that they were like a *part* of him. His dad. Carole. Finn. The sort of people whose warmth he *needed.* That he couldn't live without. Or not without a piece of him freezing up.

He had once let anyone and everyone into that warm place. His heart had been more… open. But when his mother died, it was that open, generous part of him that had met its death in the ice. Like a car door sealed shut by an ice storm. You might be trapped inside, but at least no one could throw open the door and let in more cold as they climbed inside.

Dave Karofsky should not make him shiver. Not in two days, not in ten days, not in a thousand days.

Visitors were not welcome in that warm place, because Kurt had learned very early what it felt like when a fire inside you died.

Fuck you, Dave Karofsky!

Kurt slammed his palms down on the bed, face twisting up as tears flowed down his cheeks. What was he doing, sitting here crying like a baby? He grabbed frantically at the sheet, just for something to *do* with his *hands* other than rip the nuts off a Dave that wasn't there, glancing down with a grimace as his palm met with a still damp stain.

Fuck you, sheet!

Kurt yanked at it, wadding it up in his arms as he tried to pull it off the bed, managing to send himself tumbling off the edge as well. Yeah, he was *real* elegant this morning.

Fuck you, elegance!

Kurt took hold of the edge of the mattress, dragging himself to his feet, then immediately kicked the side of the bed, letting out a little screech as pain shot through his foot.

Fuck you, bed!

Kurt Hummel was *not* going to stand for this. He was not a fucking child anymore, thank you very much, and if one David Karofsky thought he could still treat him like shit, that man had another thing coming. The asshole thought he could just push around Kurt's heart without any repercussions? That Kurt would just run and hide and try to pretend it had never happened like he had in high school?

Fuck that!

Kurt climbed back into the bed, crawling over the now bare mattress to grab at his phone on the bedside table. He would teach that bastard what happened when you tossed Kurt Hummel away like trash. Dave might be laughing now, but he wouldn't be for long.

At least then Kurt wouldn't be crying alone.

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oooooo

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Sometimes Kurt really wondered if he wore some sort of invisibility cloak. The halls were bright and bustling with students making their way from class to class. A couple of teachers were chatting over by Mr. Schue's classroom, probably gossiping about his latest failed relationship, and the janitor was mopping up yet another puddle of slushie across the hall.

But no one seemed to notice when he went flying into the lockers with a loud BANG.

De ja vu, anyone?

Kurt let out a little shriek as he slid down the metal, collapsing onto his ass. Really, if Sue had sent her Cheerios to ransack him for conditioning products again—

"What the fuck is *wrong* with you, Hummel?"

Kurt looked up, eyes wide as Azimio's furious face stared down at him.

First thought: What the hell was Azimio doing at McKinley? Second thought: Wow, he looked really weird in that cop costume. It wasn't very flattering. Weren't they supposed to come with short-shorts and fuzzy handcuffs?

Kurt clenched his jaw as he climbed to his feet, shoulders tight. He would *not* let himself be bullied *any* more. Not through Dave's subtly villainous manipulations and not by Azimio's oversized fists! Especially not in the middle of *his* school!

"Sais-tu combien de temps ta mere prend pour chier? Neuf mois!" Let the caveman wonder over that.

"Freme la bouche! Tu es con!" Azimio sneered as Kurt's eyes widened in surprise. "Yes, the truth is revealed. I speak French. I always spoken French. My parents got a chateau in France, pretty boy! You know why everybody calls me 'Az'? 'Cause my first name is fuckin' Francois and there wasn't no way I was gonna let anybody call me 'Francois'! I knew what you were sayin' every time you ripped me a new one in class and I know what you're sayin' now. My momma takes nine months to shit, huh? Well, it obviously don't take you quite as long, good sir. Maybe it's the lack of the gestation period? It didn't take you more than ten minutes to shit all over Dave!"

Fury rose in Kurt, his cheeks starting to burn as the adrenaline pumped through him. How dare Azimio accuse *him* of being the bad guy here? David had waltzed in, lit a fire, then left it to die, the bastard. "*I* shit on him? Really?" He turned his head, pretending to sniff his shoulder. "Because I'm pretty sure that's crap I smell there."

Azimio smacked a palm angrily against the lockers as he bent forward, leveling his eyes with Kurt's. "You are a such a little—" He cut off, taking a deep breath as his glanced around at the slowly gathering ring of students around them, then eased back a little, scowling. "Look, can we take this little chat out of the public eye? I took an oath not to beat the motherloving shit outta someone without a warrant, so I'd prefer to read you your lack of rights in private!"

Oh, please. Kurt sneered. "Why should we do that? You never had the dignity back in high school to spare *me* the pain of constant public humiliation—"

"This is *not* high school, Hummel!" Azimio cut in, looking annoyed. "We are grown men, dammit, not little teenage boys with nothing but our egos and the length of our pricks to be proud of! Will you get over the high school shit already? I am sorry we bullied the hell out of you. I really am. Now will you let it go?"

"It may have been just jokes to you, Azimio, but it had a huge impact on my *life*! Not that you could ever understand that."

Azimio gave a snort. "Oh, yeah? You think I don't know the effect bullying has on people's lives? Then explain to me why I spend several hours of my personal time every single week going from school to school explaining it to troubled kids? You know, I almost went to *jail* 'cause of the dumb crap we were pulling. I didn't *mean* to break his hip when I shoved him down the stairs. It was just a joke. But next thing I knew, I was wearing a matching set of metal bracelets, gettin' shoved into the back of a cop car."

He shook his head. "I wanted to be the big, bad boy, and seem all gangsta bad ass. My grandaddy is one of the few token blacks on the damn *Senate*, but I wanted to be ghetto fab-u-lous. So I beat up kids and pretended that I was a dumb ass instead of a straight A student who lived in a gated community, 'cause then I'd be like Jay-Z and the five other black kids at our school would stop callin' me 'Oreo' for going to a white church!"

"You got *arrested*?" That must have been during his time at Dalton. Too bad. Kurt would have *loved* to see it.

"Yeah. Thank God my family's full of high class lawyers and they managed to wash that shit away. But my folks made me go volunteer at the Boy's Club on the wrong side of the tracks." He shuddered. "And you know what I found out? That being a bad boy isn't all it's cracked up to be. I thought I was, like, tough? Ha. There were kids dat would kill each other over a goddamn pair of sneakers-no joke. I ain't kiddin'. I see it all the time. You put someone in a Dumpster in that hood, they stayed there because they were dead to begin with. So I decided to become a cop."

"Well, I'm sure you love your donuts, so I guess that was a good choice. To serve Krispy Kremes and protect Honey Buns."

Azimio gave a harsh laugh. "Hummel, we ain't in high school no more. I'm sorry that Dave and I made your life so miserable whine whine whine blah blah blah, okay? I just don't see how it's okey-dokey for you to do the same back to him!"

The bell rang and the students began to reluctantly slump off to their classes, leaving Kurt and Azimio standing in the empty hallway. Kurt glared at the other man, clenching his hands in anger. "Don't you dare give me that moral bullshit! He left me in a fucking hotel room with nothing but a note with a damn smiled face to say farewell! You want to give me crap about maturity? How the hell is *that* mature, Azimio? Please tell me, Officer Francois!"

Azimio took a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look, Hummel. He's a runner, okay? It has nothin' to do with you and everything to do with him and the fact that he's got about as much self-esteem as a fucking rock. He's a fool. I can't ague *that*. He shouldn't have run out on you. But I can guarantee that the last thing in the world that big idiot meant to do was to hurt you."

Kurt's eyes flashed. "Yeah, because ditching people without even a goodbye makes everybody feel fabulous." He gritted his teeth. "Maybe I was fooling myself. I know that I can be a self-absorbed bitch and I am proud of it!" He gestured to his outfit. "Who *wouldn't* be self-absorbed if they were me? But I really thought that we had something going. I thought…" Kurt made a choked little sound. How could he have let this happen? How could he have let someone inside so easily? It was like it had just *happened.* Magic. "I thought it was kind of special. That's how I *felt*, anyway. But I guess it was just a big joke to him. Still tormenting me, after all these years. The laugh's on Kurt."

Azimio shook his head, looking annoyed. "For the love of God! You are an idiot. And he is an idiot! I am surrounded by idiots. Big, gay idiots!"

Kurt sniffed. "Do you have a *problem* with my sexuality—?"

"I have a problem with the way yo' mouth opens and vomits crap, boy!" Azimio let out a sigh. "Aren't you queer guys supposed to, like, talk? Communication Station? They homo version of Conjunction Junction? Sing and dance about it?" He scowled. "Fucking Dave. I'ma kick his ass." A deep breath. "Look, princess, like I said: Dave is a runner. He's always been a runner. He runs the fuck away from anything he thinks might hurt him so he don't have to face it. Tough on the field but a damn puppy dog on the inside. Even makes the sad puppy dog faces. Seriously, when he feels sad my wife will swoon, wrap her arms around him, and pat him on the damn head!"

Did Azimio really think that made things okay? That just because Dave liked to play the *coward*, it was okay to abandon Kurt?

"That is a bunch of bullshit. He was, what, scared, so he ditched me like trash? I *really* thought he had changed. I thought he was a new guy! A guy who had accepted himself, who knew what he was and was prepared to take the next step—"

"Now *that* is bullshit."

Kurt's mouth dropped open. "Excuse me? How, exactly, does that qualify as *bullshit*?"

"Look," Azimio said, sounding a little annoyed. "I'ma kick Dave's butt, I promise. But don't play innocent here. You did *not* think that he was a dude who had, like, accepted himself and was all ready to dance around shooting rainbows out his butt! I understand that you got hurt. And that sucks, because I would stake my life on the fact that the dummy didn't mean to hurt you. He probably managed to talk himself around in circles until he decided that he was doing you a 'favor' by leaving. Probably because he wasn't 'good enough' for you and you really wouldn't want to be stuck with him 'cause he's a loser, but you might feel you *had* to stay out of guilt, so it was better to just go ahead and leave and not put you through the pain. Something bullshit like that. Like I said, he has the self-esteem of a damn rock and a rock can't even think."

"He can't either, obviously, so I would say that is an outstanding comparison."

Azimio ignored him. "Dave was wrong. I can understand you being upset. I would get you calling him and letting him have it. Maybe even flying down to Texas to kick him in the balls. But the shit you did, Kurt… that was wrong. Really wrong. The kind of thing that could destroy a man's *life.*"

Kurt crossed his arms defensively over his chest. Azimio could say what he wanted. The kind of thing Dave had done could ruin a man's life, too. Azimio had probably never felt the cold. He didn't know what it was *like* when a flame died inside you.

"This was not entirely Dave's fault. Maybe you expected too damn much. You can blab all day, but I *know* that you did *not* really believe he was all self-accepting, Mr. Healthy Homo. So don't you bullshit me about *that*. You were *not* blindsided, boy."

Kurt moved a step toward him, a furious look on his face. "I guess you probably think that a girl who teases a lot deserves to get sexually assaulted, too—"

"Do not give me that shit, Hummel!" Azimio's voice rose and he stepped forward as well, towering over the other man. "You thought he had *changed*? That he was all better?" His voice was mocking. "He is a closeted jock with a fake *wife* who has never had a *real* boyfriend in his entire *life*! And you *knew* that! He tries to be what he is, but the truth is that he can't. Not really. Not when he's got pressure from all sides. From his boss. His teammates. His coaches. His dad. Hell, he'd probably get egged by half the dudes with a subscription to Sports, Illustrated! You can kill dogs and rape women, but being queer? *That* is a pro-sports no-no. You knew he was *far* from out and proud, don't pretend that you didn't."

"I thought we were 'adults,' Azimio! 'Grown ups' who should act like big people? But Dave gets to act like a big baby while *I* be mature and understanding?"

The man threw his hands in the air. "I ain't saying you can't blame Dave, Hummel! You think I didn't blame him when he tried to run away from it all in high school? You think that *I* wasn't so damn *furious* that I wanted to beat the ever loving shit out of that boy?" Azimio gave a hoarse laugh. "And I made it *very* clear to him that his little tactics were *not* acceptable, not matter what bullshit 'reason' he had come up with. I made it *very* clear that if he ever tried that crap again, I would chase him into the bowels of hell and make his afterlife so damn miserable that Satan would seem like a saint next to me! But I also made it *very* clear that there was no reason, whatsoever, that he needed to pull a stunt like that. That he didn't need to run away because he was my bro and I loved him. It was maybe the sappiest moment of my life when I informed the fool that he needed to stop hating on himself because there wasn't nothing to hate and anybody who thought different could tell it to my fists."

Boo hoo. As if every gay man in the world didn't have it hard. Kurt was sick of the fucking sob stories. "Oh, well, it's very sad that he tried to run away from home or whatever. But once again, that's just an excuse for him to act like a baby!" He scowled. "It wasn't easy for me, either, but I didn't run from my problems!"

Azimio snorted. "He didn't run away, Hummel. He tried to off himself."

Kurt's eyes widened. "Wait, what? He tried to… why, because he didn't want to be gay?"

Azimio rubbed tiredly at his forehead, letting out a low laugh. "Oh, no, it couldn't be that simple. Because what does *he* matter, right? He couldn't talk himself into doing something like that for his *own* good. So he sat down all alone in his room on fucking Valentine's day, scribbling down in a notebook, like, a hundred reasons to kill himself." Azimio's jaw tightened. "Stupid ass reasons, claiming the *world* would be better off without him. I said, dude, the world would be better off without George W. Bush. Why don't you off him instead?"

Azimio chuckled darkly. "His *parents* wouldn't have to live with the scorn of having a homosexual son. Just the pain of him being dead, which is totally better than scorn. *I* wouldn't have to lose my best friend. Tell me how that makes sense, Hummel? I still don't get it. I wouldn't have to lose my best friend? Yeah, D, because you'd just be *dead.* But that would be better than me finding out he was queer."

"That… that makes no sense."

"No shit. And he knows it now, too. It's kind of become a joke, that stupid notebook. Someone does something retarded and he'll laugh and say, 'hey, they could've been my Valentine!'" Azimio shook his head. "I mean, one of his reasons was that his mom liked rainbows—she had, like, pictures and stuff in the kitchen—and he didn't want to ruin that for her by making it a gay thing. What the fuck, man? You gonna off yourself so that your mom can like *rainbows*? Rainbows are fuckin' gay anyway! But truth is, he still thinks stupid stuff like that sometimes, especially when it comes to relationships. He lives and breathes acceptance. Why do you think he acted like such an ass in high school when he's such a big teddy bear inside? He wanted to be accepted by me, by his puckhead friends, by the football jocks. And he doesn't want to be rejected so bad that he'll just push people away 'for their own good' rather than risk that they won't want him around."

Kurt stared blankly at the floor, feeling a little sick to his stomach. Dave had tried to kill himself? In high school? What Valentines had this been? The one where he and Mercedes had hung out in their pajamas eating chocolate chip cookie dough and mint ice cream? The one where Blaine had sung at Breadstix and they'd started their journey as 'just friends' who would quickly become 'with benefits' before going all the way to 'boyfriends'? The one where he'd been back at McKinley and the Glee club had done Secret Cupid Valentines gifts? Dave had given him a slushie facial that day. Cherry flavored. Kurt remembered because it had ruined the zebra-print scarf his Secret Cupid (who had to have been Mercedes) gave him. Kurt had called the boy a name. Stupid and fat? Ignorant and disgusting? Worthless and hairy? Something along those lines.

Kurt *really* hoped it hadn't been *that* Valentines.

"I… I don't… He tried to… in *high school*?" Kurt shivered a little. How had thought he was cold before? *Now* he was cold. Maybe that flame had been more than a little spark that fizzed out in an instant. A candle, perhaps? A flambe? An electric fireplace? This feeling… how could it feel as though he'd almost lost something he hadn't even had at the time? This made no sense.

Azimio sighed, palming his face. "Look, Hummel, I am pissed at you. Really pissed. Because Dave will always be like a brother with Michael Jackson's skin disease to me. And I don't mean that in a high-5, bromance sort of way. I mean like a *brother.* But if I was *your* brother, yeah, I'd probably want to punch the dumb ass in the face."

Kurt blinked, looking up in confusion. What…? Oh, right. They'd been talking about… about what Dave had done. And then what Kurt had done. It was just kind of hard to concentrate... The shock of knowing that Dave had tried to kill himself—while Kurt had *known* him—was kind of mind-blowing. Or maybe mind-numbing was a better word.

"But I will say this. The fool has mooned over you since goddamn high school. And, considering that what you did when he left you hanging was some *seriously* vengeful shit, you must care something about him too. At least I know that the only people I get pissed at that much are the ones I love the most. Everybody else can pretty much such my dick. So I figure you care. Cared enough to hit him where it hurts the most, anyway."

Kurt dropped his eyes, cheeks reddening slightly.

"Honestly, I don't know what to say. I'm no relationship counselor and I really came to give you a half a dozen parking tickets, just for the hell of it. So you do whatever you think is best. I just hope that queens like you are better with the 'feelings' than dudes like me, because the last thing I wanna see is my man with a broken heart." He snorted. "Not that it could break much more after you betrayed him like that."

Damn it, Azimio!

"Your 'main man,' isn't the only one with a heart!" Kurt said suddenly, not even caring that his voice was cracking a little. "Maybe I should have just left it alone. But other people's hearts can break, too!"

And he really, really didn't want to feel the cold.

"Yeah, okay, well I just hope the shit you pulled made you feel better. Now you're not the only one hurting. Not that you really were before."

Made him feel better? That *was* what Kurt had been trying to do, wasn't it? To make that strange cold spot in his heart disappear by… by what? Trying to make Dave feel just as cold inside? What was wrong with him? He would never, ever wish that chill on another person.

Azimio sighed. "Now, if you will excuse me, I got a plane to catch. I got a phone call from a sobbing Mrs. Katie Kline-Karofsky this morning because Dave won't stop running. Passed out after like twenty miles, went to the hospital, drank half a tank of Gatorade, and went home just to start running again." He shook his head, a sadly amused look on his face. "But hey, I told you he was a runner, didn't I?"

Kurt swallowed hard, definitely not in the mood to laugh.

"Later, Hummel. I'd tell you to Rot In Pieces but it would probably piss Dave off."

The man turned and took off down the hall, leaving Kurt to stare dully after him.

He shivered, wrapping his arms around himself.

When the hell had it gotten so cold?


	16. Ch 16: Tuck and Run

**FYI**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

******Author's Notes:** For the sake of those wondering, no, it has not yet been revealed (or will it be revealed in this chapter) *exactly* what Kurt did when he was pissed off and decided to use his phone to torment Dave. It was supposed to be in this chapter, but this chapter got cut in half because I am trying to stop writing 10,000 word chapters, LOL. All shall be told next chapter. I already have most of it written..

.

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**Chapter 16: Tuck and Run  
**

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'_It's rainin' men, it's rainin' men, hallelujah—'_

Men. Who the hell had invented men? If men had never been invented none of this would be happening! Dave hit the 'next' button on his iPod, gritting his teeth as he sped up his pace, feet pounding into the pavement.

'_And put my lipstick on in the glass of her boudoir—'_

Dammit! Go get born that way in hell, Gaga. Sweat trickled down his face.

Click.

'_Fat bottomed girls—'_

Damn Freddie Mercury and his unhealthy obsession with ass!

Click.

'_The eyes of Texas are upon you—'_

They didn't call the University of Texas 'Southern San Francisco' for nothing. Dammit!

Click.

'_I like big butts and I cannot lie—'_

Did *anyone* in this world think about *anything* other than butts? Faster. He just needed to run *faster.* Faster than the butt talk.

Click.

'_No one can do the things I'm gonna wanna do to you—' _

Enrique fucking Iglesias. You didn't get much queerer than *that.*

Click.

'_Motherfuckers act like they forgot about Dre—'_

Damn Eminem and his strangely close relationship to Dr. Dre! It was unnatural!

Why the hell was everything on his iPod so damn GAY?

Dave yanked off his headphones as he came to an abrupt halt, stumbling a little as he flung his iPod hard onto the concrete and sent one foot ramming down after it. Fuck the three hundred bucks. Stomp. He was still a sports star. Stomp. At least until his sponsors dumped his ass and Jerry Jones gave him the ax. Stomp. He could afford another iPod. Stomp. One that wasn't so *damn* GAY!

Damn the gay iPod. Damn it to hell.

Dave kicked vindictively at the wreck of plastic, then took off down the street again at full speed, panting hard as he tried to wipe the sweat from his forehead with one arm.

He really hated iPods. And scarves. And feathers. And also that lamp post there because it was definitely phallic and phallic was *definitely* GAY!

Gay like him.

Damn that little bitch!

Dave gritted his teeth as his heart clenched, swallowing down the scream that wanted to come tearing out of his throat. Problem was, if he started screaming, he wasn't sure he'd stop, and this neighborhood was filled with old people. Old people who kept one eye out their lacy curtains and one finger on 9-1-1 speed dial. The neighborhood watch would be down on him in seconds when Mrs. Kennedy called Mrs. Langston who would call Pastor Evans who would call Miss Sally Lou who would call the Arlington PD who would come and arrest his big, gay ass. Not the most efficient of neighborhood watch systems, but it was really more of a gossip line, in truth. After all, everybody had a burglar alarm anyway. But having a breakdown in the middle of the street would definitely be enough to get the grapevine flowing, and the last thing he needed was more casseroles.

Apparently old people felt that a casserole could solve any problem. Dave's counter was stacked so high with Tupperware that you could barely see into the dining room. Hopefully everyone had taped their names to the side or he'd have so many dishes he'd have to start putting them in the tool shed out back.

Dave heard the sound of an engine pulling up behind him but he didn't even bother to look. Yeah, he was running in the goddamn street. They could go the fuck around him! Or better yet, just run him over. That would solve a lot of problems. Let Katie deal with the Tupperware dishes. Maybe she could serve them as a buffet at his funeral.

Dave increased his speed to an even more brutal pace, eyes locked on nothing as he tried to run as mindlessly as possible. Which, really, just wasn't possible at all.

Damn him. Damn him. Damn him! He should strangle the little bitch for what he did. It was all his fault. If it wasn't for him, none of this would be happening—

Dave cut off that line of thought with a hoarse laugh as he grabbed his water bottle and sprayed it across his burning face. Who was he kidding? All Kurt had done was what Dave had been afraid to do. And yeah, maybe it had been a brutal kick to the balls. But did he deserve any better? He was a liar and a coward. Kurt might be a ruthless bitch, but at least he was brave. All Dave did was run and hide.

Besides, he should have known better than to let that fucking phone anywhere near his naked, loose jawed self.

An engine revved again and a car pulled around him, slowing down to match Dave's pace.

Damn, damn, damn! Dave did *not* want any more media attention. He'd spent half the day yesterday being shouted at by lawyers and was now contractually forbidden to say a goddamn word about that stupid tape. Not that he'd wanted to chat about it anyway. Why the hell couldn't they just leave him alone?

Dave glanced over, ready to give Channel Whatever a piece of his mind, then tripped over his own feet as he found himself eye to eye with Azimio, cruising along in full police regalia.

How the hell had he gotten hold of a Dallas police car?

"What the fuck do you think you be doin', boy?" Azimio snapped as Dave recovered his balance and took off once more, pointedly not meeting his friend's eyes. The car sped up to match him.

"Are you tryin' to kill yo' self?"

"Fuck off, Az," Dave snapped through heavy breaths, running big palms through his sweat soaked hair. "I don't wanna talk."

"Yeah, well, that's too bad, homeboy," Azimio snapped back, sounding annoyed. He patted the side of the car as he continued to drive along slowly beside the heaving, panting Dave. "I took a damn plane all the way down here, then practically had to trade my left testicle to borrow this baby so I wouldn't have to rent a car. You owe me for dat plane ride, by the way."

"Fuck *off*," Dave repeated intelligently, his body aching too badly from his constant running to come up with anything more clever. Not that it would do any good anyway. Azimio did exactly what the hell Azimio wanted to do, and always had.

"Katie said you passed out, hotshot. How long you been running?"

Dave shrugged, slowing a little. One hour? Three hours? Six hours? All fucking week? It was sort of blending together now, with the trip to the ER as the big divide between the original 'oh my God, oh my God, oh my God run' and the later 'this is gay, this is gay, this is GAY run.' "I like to run. It's good for my fat ass."

Azimio snorted. "Bullshit. You know this crap ain't gonna get you anything but a paper gown that ties in the back-quite a kinky look, I must say-and an IV in your arm. You can't out run it, boyo, so stop tryin'."

A loud honking noise came from behind them and Azimio stuck his arm out the window, flipping the bird at the car behind them as he used the other hand to smack something in the car, the lights on the roof beginning to flash. "YO! Find a new route! Dis one's closed! Crime scene!"

Dave rolled his eyes as Azimio continued to hold his middle finger up in the air until the car behind them revved its engine and drove off a little faster than was necessary.

"Good job keeping the peace there, Az."

"Good job runnin' yourself into a six foot plot there, Davey," he retorted, still cruising along next to him. "Now stop your fucking running and get in the damn car before you pass out again!"

I'm fine," Dave snapped back, shooting his friend a glare. "Katie shouldn't have called you. The bitch. I'm fine! Running is good for you."

"And so is aspirin, until you decide to down twelve bottles at once. You look like shit, you sound like shit, and you definitely *smell* like shit." Azimio wrinkled his nose a little, waving a hand in front of his face. "You're shit. Now stop runnin' and get in the fucking car. I'm takin' you home."

Home. Ha. Why? So he could sit on his couch and down beers while he watched that fucking video over and over and over, the smell of ninety five green bean casseroles and a couple of pecan pies filling his senses?

Sitting there just so he could hear that pretty voice giggle and shout, _"Come on, David! Just say it!"_

No. No, no, no. He was not going to replay it in his mind or on his TV any more. No, no, no.

_"It's not that hard! Just say, 'I'm gay!' Come on, David! Just admit who you *are* for once!"_

Damn that little bitch.

Yeah, home was just about the last place he wanted to be right now. "Go to hell, Azimio."

"Dude, you can't run fo'ever!"

Oh yeah? Well, he could sure as hell try. Dave picked up his speed.

There was a sudden screeching of tires as Azimio simultaneously slammed on the gas and yanked the wheel, sending the car flying right into Dave's path.

"Dammit!" he shouted as he smacked hard into the side of the car, unable to stop, then toppled to the ground, landing hard on his ass. "Dammit, Az!" Dave pushed himself up on his hands and knees on the concrete, glaring up at his friend, chest heaving and sweat trickling into his eyes. "Are you trying to kill me?"

"Nah, I think you're handlin' that one quite well all on your own." A door slammed and Dave was suddenly being yanked up and shoved against the car again, only this time his arms were being pulled behind his back and a pair of metal cuffs were clicking shut on his wrists.

"What the—"

"You got the right to remain silent and I suggest you make use of this right before I decide to beat yo' stupid face in!" Azimio shoved the bigger man, pushing him around the car and shoving him into the passenger side. "Now, you be a good boy or I'll just drop you on a corner somewhere and you can wander the streets in bracelets until you find someone with a paperclip and a good heart, 'kay?"

Dave glared at his friend as the man shut the door behind him and moved back around the car, climbing into the driver's seat.

"Why the hell are you doing this to me?" More sweat trickled into his eyes and Dave tried unsuccessfully to wipe it on his shoulder, moving around uncomfortably as his arms dug into his back. "Can't everyone just leave me alone?"

"Nope," Azimio said flatly. "Sorry man, but that's not what bros are for." He smirked and hit the cruiser's lights again, taking off down the street at an impressive speed.

"I don't wanna go home."

"Fine. If you won't go home, well, then we might as well get you re-hydrated."

.

ooo

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Kurt wasn't sure exactly what he had expected Dave Karofsky's home to look like, but this definitely wasn't it. A mansion maybe? A piece of overworked land that cost a couple mill dumped in the middle of an overpriced gated community with a fancy drive and a fountain in front? Maybe a diamond studded swimming pool or two? He had at least expected two stories and a neatly landscaped lawn.

Or possibly just a cave filled with big sticks and leopard skins. Tarzan chic, you know.

He definitely hadn't expected a small, homey little frame house with a white porch that wrapped around the front and a little picket fence on either side separating it from the neighbors. The house was painted dandelion yellow, which went well with carefully tended scattering of sunflowers and begonias in front. There were pretty blue curtains in the windows and couple of lawn flamingos stuck in the mess of flowers filling the beds along the porch. An old truck was parked in the driveway, a large sticker of some sort of cow head with long horns stuck on the back window.

Kurt really hadn't taken Dave for the rancher type, but whatever.

A stone path lead from the driveway to the porch steps which were guarded by a couple of stone frogs with daisies growing out of their mouths. There was a large tree in the center of the lawn, a little white bench next to it, as well as a concrete bird bath shaped like a giant flower.

*This* was where Dave Karofsky lived?

Kurt glanced down at the rumpled piece of paper in his hand, checking the address. Yup, this was the house. Maybe Azimio was punking him. He wouldn't put it beyond the man to send him to, like, some random place he picked out of the phone book, just to be an irritating shit.

Kurt took a deep breath. There was only one way to find out for sure.

He opened the car door and climbed out, shutting it behind him as he stared nervously at the house. This was insane. Why was he even *here*? Dave would never forgive him.

Not that he *needed* any forgiving, of course. Maybe his actions had been a little… extreme. But the football player was certainly not the *only* injured party here. Kurt didn't need forgiving. He was just here to… to… to what? Drop by and say hello? If he wasn't looking for forgiveness, why was he here at all?

Maybe *he* wanted an apology from *Dave*. Yeah, that was it. Dave had gotten what was coming to him. He should have known better than to play with Kurt Hummel's heart. It was just deserts.

Yeah, and maybe if Kurt kept telling himself that, he'd believe it by the time Ke$ha learned how to bathe .

He really, really shouldn't have come here.

Kurt glanced down again at the paper in his hand. Azimio had done as promised. When Kurt had made his way out to his car after school there had been at least ten tickets stuck under his windshield wiper. Irregular parking. License plate at an angle. Inspection sticker too high on windshield. Tail pipe too small. And also two hundred dollars for having his head up his ass. That one Kurt was totally protesting in court.

But the asshole had left something else, too. A crumpled up candy bar wrapper with some messy scrawls on the back.

David Karofsky  
701 Periwinkle Ln.  
Arlington, TX 76013

Periwinkle Lane. Dave Karofsky lived on Periwinkle Lane.

Kurt shook his head and looked up, studying the house once more. Seriously, it looked like someplace his Great Aunt Trish would live. There were wind chimes hanging from the tree and a freaking *rocking chair* on the porch. The only thing about the place that seemed even moderately 'Dave' was the pickup truck and a large toolbox sitting on the porch with a scattering of wrenches and pliers around it.

"I don't know who you are, but I suggest you leave the premises right now, sir!"

Kurt jumped, eyes widening as a shrill voice came from off to the side. He spun around only to come face to face with a woman old enough to be his grandmother brandishing a gardening sheer threateningly at him from over the tiny picket fence separating her lawn from Dave's.

"This is a *private* residence and I am not afraid to call the police!"

Kurt took a step back. Who knew that old women with wrinkly skin and curly white hair could look so much like Hannibal Lector? "I was just—"

"I don't care what you were just! We don't want any media here! Don't make me call the dogs!"

"Linda, what's going on there?" Kurt spun around again as a man' voice bellowed from behind him, and was greeted by the sight of a stooped, balding old geezer holding out his rake in Kurt's direction like it was some sort of lethal weapon.

"We have another trespasser!" the woman called out, adjusting her wide brimmed hat as she glared at Kurt.

The man smacked his rake hard into the ground, putting the other hand on his hip as he stared at Kurt with narrowed eyes. "You stay away from here, young man! We don't want your kind here!"

"I-I'm sorry," Kurt said, backing away slowly. Time to retreat to the rental car. This went way beyond just being punked by Azimio—he was starting to think the man might have set him up to be killed by rabid elderly. "I thought a… friend… of mine lived here." There. In the yellow house with the lawn flamingos and the begonias.

Okay, now he was starting to feel really foolish. Had he really believed for a second that Dave Karofsky would live in a tiny little house with hummingbird feeders hanging from the porch and a yard full of flowers? Azimio was probably just trying to make a fool out of him. Dave probably lived in the middle of Dallas in some super pricey apartment, or on a million dollar ranch that was about as cowboy as Kurt was straight but still pulled off the look despite having all the amenities of a mansion.

"Oh, yes, of course!" the woman said dramatically, waving her arms around a little madly. "Because you're *all* Dave's friends! Bestest buddies! I will have you know that Donald and I are in the neighborhood Garden Club with Dave and I think we would know if you were his *friend*!" She sniffed. "I certainly haven't seen you around before. How about you, Donald?"

The old man sneered, making stabbing motions in Kurt's general direction with his rake. "Nope. I haven't seen this one! What channel are you from, son? Unless you're here to do a human interest piece on my prize lillies—"

"Or my prize roses!"

"—Then I suggest you get yourself out of our neighborhood! You hear me? I may be half blind, but I still got my hunting rifles and with you all trussed up in *that* shade of pink, I don't think I'd be likely to miss, even after six cataract surgeries!"

Kurt glanced down at his shirt which was, admittedly, a rather shocking shade of pink. But he hadn't exactly expected to need camouflage on this trip. He cleared his throat, doing his best to seem calm despite having the eyes of two elderly loonies locked on him. "So Dave *does* live here?"

The old woman made a rude noise. "Oh, don't you try and mess with *our* heads! There has been a mass of reporters hanging out on our street since that terrible video got out! The police came by not an hour ago and shooed them off for the third time just today! Now you get out of here before I get really upset and release Dave's dogs! You may think the pit bull and the doberman would be the real meanies, but it's the Pomeranian that will take a big bite out of you!"

"That's right!" the old man said, gesturing with his rake. "Snickerdoodle and Batman may have quite the growl, but little Miss Fluffers has all the bite!"

Dear God almighty. Kurt's head was really starting to hurt. The Garden Club? Miss Fluffers the Pomeranian? Seriously, when had he fallen through the rabbit hole and why did Wonderland look so much like the real world? Where the hell were all the mushrooms?

"Look," Kurt said, a little sharply. "I *am* his friend. Sort of. We went to high school together. I'm just here to talk to him, okay?"

The old man leaned forward, adjusting his thick glasses. "You know, he does look sort of familiar, Linda. Does he look familiar to you? I can't quite place him… but you know I can't see worth a darn. These dang spectacles are useless!"

The old woman cocked her head to the side, crossing his wrinkled arms over her tiny chest as she studied him for a long moment. Suddenly her eyes widened and her face twisted up into an almost grotesque look, fury flashing across her saggy features. "I know who you are! I KNOW! You little—you little—!" Without warning she knelt down and grabbed something off the grass, flinging it in his direction.

Kurt let out a loud yelp, ducking just in time to avoid a garden gnome right to the face, falling to his knees on the grass as the gnome hit the tree behind him, shattering into pieces.

"That there is the boy in that video, Donald! The one who gave it to the press! That's who that is!"

Kurt winced at the look of anger that passed over the old man's features. "The cotton picker!" he said with a shout, throwing his rake at Kurt. Apparently he hadn't been kidding about his eyes, because the rake missed by several feet. Thank God. "You watch him, Linda! I'm gonna go get my gun!"

Oh, dear God. Kurt pushed himself to his feet, glancing around a little frantically to make sure no more gnomes were headed his way. It was definitely time for a retreat. Crazy old people should not be armed-with kitschy statues *or* loaded weapons!

"What the hell is going on out here?" The front door of the little yellow house slammed open and Katie appeared, her small form somehow managing to come off as hulking. At least, it resembled Katie, minus what Kurt had assumed to be natural attractiveness.

Apparently the siren-like beauty took some skill to acquire, however, because she looked like shit. She was dressed in old gray sweatpants with ratty Nikes and a worn out sports shirt so baggy that it actually looked as if she had no boobs—quite a feat considering that they very possibly had their own zip code, they were so mammoth. The woman wasn't wearing any makeup, which made her eyes look small and her face round, and her hair was hanging in a sloppy ponytail, loose strands in her face.

Overall, it was not a good look for Katie, which made Kurt a little worried. Somehow he didn't think she was the type who skipped daily beauty regimens lightly.

"That there boy is the one who made the video of Dave! Here, in our own neighborhood!" the woman shouted. "And he broke my garden gnome!"

"You threw it at my head!" Kurt protested in disbelief, trying fruitlessly to wipe the grass stains off the knees of his designer trousers.

"Don't you worry yourself over him, Miss Katie! I'm gonna go get my gun!" the old man announced, heading off toward his open garage.

Katie let out a short laugh—one that was not entirely comforting in its tone—then waved a hand at the man. "It's okay, Donald. I wouldn't want you to get in trouble. I can handle this."

That would have made Kurt feel a lot better if the woman hadn't been glaring at him like a Disney villain in sweatpants.

"I'll just tell 'em it went off by accident if they ask! The Chief of Police's wife is in my wife's knitting club! I won't get into any trouble."

Katie shook her head, keeping cold eyes locked on Kurt. It kind of made him want to shiver. Or run. Very, very far.

"No, it's okay, Donald. I've got this." She stepped off the porch, crunching through the leaves scattered across the lawn as she marched over toward Kurt. "I suggest you get in the fucking house," the woman said in a low voice, flashing teeth at him. "Before Donald really does decide to get out his gun."

Kurt swallowed nervously, glancing back and forth between the old man and Katie. He really wasn't sure what the better option here was… But at least Katie didn't have a gun.

Probably. This *was* Texas. It was quite possible that *everyone* had a gun.

He should really just leave. Head back to Lima and pretend that none of this had ever happened. No Dave. No night together. No warm place in his heart.

Kurt took a deep breath, looking back at the little house. Was Dave in there? What was he doing? Crying? Raging? Planning Kurt's early demise? He really should leave. But he really didn't want to.

He couldn't leave it like this. He just couldn't. He'd come this far. He could walk a few more steps onto that grandmotherly porch and face the music.

Face Dave.

"Okay," he murmured quietly, ducking his head as he followed Katie down the stone path and into the house.

.

ooo

.

"And then you left him in the hotel room. That's *fabulous*, Dave. You should write a book. 'Dating BY Dummies: What Not to Do'." Azimio chugged back the last of his beer, slamming the empty bottle of Bud down onto the table. "What the *hell* were you thinking?"

Dave just shrugged, staring down into the amber of his glass. Unfortunately, the beer didn't have any answers for him. Imagine that.

"Dude. Talk to me. 'Awkward shrug' is not an answer."

Dave glanced up, scowling a little. "Look, I just had to go, okay? I mean, it was *insane*, what happened! The whole night… I was high on painkillers and I don't know what Kurt was on but it must have been some good stuff. I mean, all you have to do is look at me to know that he'd never have tapped this in his *right* mind." He snorted. "I am so not Kurt Hummel's type! He has made that exceedingly clear, over and over again. And as much as I honestly *would* like to be the consolation prize, it's not what he needs, okay? He deserves better than this."

"Uh-huh. So you, what, came to this decision at the break of dawn and then decided to take off without even a goodbye smack to the lips?"

Dave shrugged again. "I didn't want him to feel obligated to me." His voice was barely a mumble and Azimio rolled his eyes in response.

"Dude. Can I beat your head in?"

Dave glared and grabbed his glass, taking a swig and slamming it back onto the table. Man, he could use some donuts. Or maybe a steak. A plate of enchiladas? Stupid dive bar and its lack of menu. He rolled his shoulders slowly in an attempt to relax them, wincing a little at the strain. God, he hurt. How long *had* he run? His body was like one enormous ache. And it *still* couldn't muffle the ache in his heart. "Come on, Az. Can you really see Kurt Hummel with a guy like me?"

The other man snorted, waving at the waitress to bring him another beer. "He fucked you. I think that translates to 'likes you' in Faggotese or whatever."

"Yeah," Dave said sourly, "if he liked me so much then why did he feel the need to out me to the entire universe?"

"Because he's a bitch," Azimio said shortly. "A bitch who doesn't think past his own damn nose. A bitch who has an ego the size of Queen Latifa's ass and a chip on his shoulder big enough that he's practically missing a damn arm. And you, being the king of wooers that you are, left his pretty butt in a cheap motel room. What did you think he was gonna do? Throw a party?"

"What, you're on his side now?" Dave questioned, honestly not caring. What the fuck did it matter? What was done, was done. Just because he really wanted to beat the shit out of something didn't mean he had to act on it. He was a big boy now. And, what the hell, it would have happened sooner or later. Now he just had to figure out if the sham was gonna get thicker or if it was time to put up his flag and surrender.

Not that it was really his choice. That was what he had agents and press managers for.

"No, I ain't on his damn side! The boy was a fucking bastard! Honestly, I'd like to beat in dat pretty little face!"

"Azimio…" Dave said warningly and his friend held up his hands.

"Hey, I ain't saying I'm gonna do it. I'm just sayin' that what he did was about as low as you can get. So really, it is time for you to cut all the 'not worthy of him' or whatever bull crap. I think Mr. Pretty has shown his true colors and they ain't all as sparkly and perfect as you seem to think." He shrugged. "But I will say this. While the bitch is definitely just that—a complete and total bitch—I don't think he's got a mean heart, man. I *don't* think he's the type to hurt somebody just for the sake of hurtin' 'em."

"You mean he's not like me," Dave said ruefully, earning himself a smack to the back of the head from Azimio.

"I swear, you and the little bitch are so stuck in the freaking past that it's painful! Hello! It isn't junior year anymore, we're not children, and all that crap is *over*!" Azimio shook his head when Dave just glared at him. "Look, man, you're a sweetheart. It's kind of disgusting, actually—this is so not how I raised you! You make cookies for yo' damn neighbors and do community service for *fun*, God help you. So you shoved a few kids into lockers when yo' brain was still developing and your dick was in total control o' your mind. Wahoo. It is time to *move on.*"

Dave sighed. "Whatever. It doesn't matter. I'm not his type."

"Fine. Explain one thing to me, then. If you ain't his type, then why did he decide to go spreading your secrets all over the universe? I think we just agreed that he's not the type to try and knock people down for the hell of it. If there was nothing there between ya'll, then why did he give a shit when you took off? Hm?"

Dave gritted his teeth. "I don't know, okay? Maybe to get back for the stuff I did to him in school? I don't know why he did it! I wish I did! But what the fuck does it matter? I'm screwed and, hopefully, he's happy. Then at least one of us will be."

Azimio shook his head, raising an eyebrow at his friend. "Okay, man, I'm sorry, but I'm gonna have to pull out the big guns."

Dave frowned. "What?"

Azimio reached into his pocket, tugging out a crumpled piece of paper and flattening it against the table. He smirked at Dave then cleared his throat. "It is hurtful when you abandon someone after they have given you their trust. You need to accept this, Dave, in order to come to terms with what happened."

"Oh for God's sake!" Dave snapped as he attempted to snatch the paper from Azimio. "Your wife cannot lecture me from across state lines!" Azimio moved the paper out of Dave's reach and the man took an angry swig from his beer. Just what he needed. Woman words. As if he didn't get enough of that from Katie.

"Kurt obviously cared about you, no matter what you might think," Azimio read, still smirking a little.

"Seriously, man? This is not fair. If I wanted to get lectured by a chick, I'd have stayed home. Katie's taken up residence in my guest bedroom until she thinks I'm fit to exist on my own again."

Azimio shot him a look. "Hey, man, you asked for it." He cleared his throat again. "You need to stop pretending that you are doing people a favor by pushing them away and acknowledge the fact that you are actually afraid that they will be unwilling to accept you—"

"Okay, please, stop!" Dave dropped his head onto the table with a dull thunk, covering his head with his arms. "Just stop. I've fucked everything up. I get it, okay?" He made a small choking sound. "I don't need you to tell me that. I fucked it up with Kurt and I fucked up the rest of my life right alongside it."

Azimio let out a sigh, reaching out to rub his friend's shoulder. "Dude, don't say that. What Kurt did was honestly *not* your fault, man. He was so in the wrong there. Yeah, you fucked it up with Kurt. But he fucked it up more, so don't feel too bad. There's no excuse for what he did. And maybe it was unforgivable. I sure as hell can't tell you that. It's somethin' you got to decide. But do not start playing the 'it was all me, I got what I deserved' cards, okay? 'Cause you know what I think of that bullshit. You didn't deserve what Hummel did."

Dave lifted his face just enough to give the other man a withering look, then dropped his head back down, voice coming out a little muffled from beneath his big arms. "Kurt just did what I was too much of a coward to do. What I'm still too much of a coward to do. *He* was never afraid to be who he was."

Azimio snorted. "Yeah, because he's a big fucking queen and everybody knew it from the start. Dave, man, no. Don't do this, 'kay? I know you like to disappear into your little land of self-deprecation and shit, but it ain't cool, bro. It just leads to bad times. You fucked up, the bitch fucked up, everybody involved did some major fucking of the upping. But you're gonna have to figure out some way to deal. You can't just run forever. This ain't the kind of shit you can outrun."

"What else am I supposed to do?" Dave asked bitterly, slowly lifting his head from the table as he reached up to rub tiredly at his eyes. "If I let people think I'm queer, my career will be six feet under. No sponsors will want the fag. Then what am I gonna do? Work construction?" He laughed hoarsely. "Bet I'd get constant shit on the job. Look, it's the queer! But if I do whatever smooth-it-over bullshit press release my agent's gonna want me to pull, tell them it was just a joke, or whatever they've scripted, it will just be another lie. I'll be a loser either way." He stared dully at the table. "I don't know what to do." Dave looked up beseechingly at Azimio. "Dude, just tell me what to *do*."

Azimio gave him a sad smile, reaching out to squeeze his forearm. "Sorry, man. My lady love didn't write down the answer to that one."

Dave let out a loud sigh. "At this point, I'd even take *your* shitty advice."

"Yeah." A long moment of silence. "So how *bout* dem Saints?"


	17. Ch 17: Sacked

**FYI**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

******Author's Notes:** **Author's Note:** If you wanna read a little "prequel" in this universe from when Dave and Kurt were in highschool, I wrote a little (mostly) PWP called **Scouting the Field**. You can find it at sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]scoutingthefield - just replace [brackets] with the correct symbol.

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**Chapter 17: Sacked**

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The inside of Dave's house spoke a little more of "bachelor pad" than the carefully tended garden and the rocking chair out front had, but it still wasn't quite what Kurt would have expected of an NFL superstar. Not that he had really known what to expect. The back end of a pickup sticking out of the wall, tailgate loaded with beer and barbecue, maybe?

Kurt shifted uncomfortably as he glanced around the living room, taking in the mish mash of furniture and decorations. It was homey enough, if you didn't mind the way the glass eyes of Bambi's very 'horny' father stared at you from over the fireplace. The plump, well-used couch with the big cabbage rose print and stuffing coming out of one of the cushions was less Dave-like than the leather Lay-Z-Boy recliner, but not quite as out of place as the antique looking chair covered in red velvet. There were a couple of beer cans on the end table but, overall, the place was surprisingly neat. A collection of sports memorabilia filled a small curio cabinet and, next to it, a couple of swords were mounted on the wall, along with some other device that looked straight out of a sci-fi movie. Colorful little vases of wilted flowers brightened up the mantle and a large flatscreen TV was mounted on the opposite wall. The walls were painted a soothing blue color and a bar separated the living room from an open kitchen, a sign with the words 'Never Trust a Skinny Cook' hanging in the window over the sink.

Overall, it was very welcoming and homey, if a little less-than-professionally decorated.

Kurt took a deep breath as he eyed Katie, who, in his opinion, was skulking a little too close to the swords for comfort. She was definitely not harboring any kind feelings toward him at the moment, from the rather terrifying look on her face. He was really starting to miss the 'dumb blonde with big breasts and too much makeup' look. It might have been sexist, but Barbie dolls just weren't as intimidating as women who did things like eat and sleep and menstruate.

Katie took another step toward the swords.

Okay, time to break the silence before Xena decided to break out the broadsword. "Um… thank you for, uh, rescuing me from the, uh, neighbors." Kurt flashed his very best 'sweet gay boy' look, the one that always made women swoon and men bow.

Katie returned his smile with a show stopper of her own and he relaxed minutely. At least she wasn't glaring any more.

"Oh, you're welcome, honey bun. But just so you know, I only saved you from Donald's gun so that I could do *this*!"

Kurt let out a loud squeak, stumbling backward as Katie yanked the weird sci fi thing off the wall and leaped over the couch like a fucking impala on crack, swinging it over her head. What the hell was that thing?

Katie pushed a button and the instrument made a loud whooshing sound, red light filling the shaft.

Oh, God. She had a phallus shaped taser. This was *so* not good. With his luck she'd try to fuck him up the ass with it.

"I bet you just thought you were *hilarious*, huh? Fucking Dave over! Still not over your teenaged angst, you pitiful piece of shit! Well, you know what *I* think is hilarious? The sound you'll make when I chop off your balls!"

She swung the thing again and it made a strange slashing noise. What the hell was that? Could it really chop off his balls? Kurt ducked as the red sword thing flew right where his head had been only a moment before, knocking the enormous feather in his fedora to the floor.

"My feather!"

"Fuck your feather! Hold on to your BALLS!"

Kurt made a whimpering noise and started to crawl toward the couch, then winced as he heard the loud slamming of a door behind him. Oh, shit. If the old man really had gotten his gun, he was totally in for it.

"What the hell is going on here?" Kurt's breath caught. That was definitely *not* the old man's voice. He crouched down a little further, pressing his shoulder into the back of the couch and ducking his head, heart pounding fast. The Garden Society bearing pitchforks and shotguns might have been a better scenario than Dave Karofsky at his back right now. For all he knew, the man wanted him dead. It wouldn't take much. All he'd have to do was sit on him.

Katie swung the penis-taser again, her face so twisted up in rage that it was almost ridiculous. Or would have been ridiculous had it not been absolutely terrifying. "Look what showed up on your doorstep! Assfuck McBastard!"

"Oh, shiiiit. Dis is not good."

Kurt winced at the low rumbling of Azimio's voice. Wonderful. He was surrounded by giants, trolls, and warrior princesses.

"For God's sake, woman!" Dave's dirty Nikes came into view and Kurt hunched down a little further. He was so dead. There was a shuffling noise and Katie let out a shriek.

"Put down my lightsaber! That's a collector's item, woman! It cost me a hundred and fifty bucks!"

Lightsaber? Like, from Star Trek or whatever? It was a *toy*? Fuck it, no point in risking standing up. For all Kurt knew, 'lightsaber' was the new code word for 'enormous killing device.' When *he* was a kid, toys sure as hell hadn't made slashing sounds like that thing did, anyway.

Kurt snuck a look up just in time to see Dave wrestle the thing away from the screeching woman and hit a button, causing the red light to disappear with a whoosh. Kurt relaxed. Minimally. *Very* minimally. There *was* still a three hundred pound giant, a dumbass with a gun, and a cheerleader with razor sharp nails within striking distance, after all.

"What are you doing here, Kurt?" Dave's voice was very soft, so soft that Kurt almost couldn't hear him, and he risked another look up, a wave of guilt washing over him as he took in the exhausted slump of the man's body.

"I-I wanted to… talk to you." Talk to him. What did that even mean? To shout at him for being an ass? To beg his forgiveness for being an ass himself? Kurt wasn't even sure anymore.

"Oh, I think you've talked plenty, Lady Diva-lot," Katie snapped, attempting another leap in Kurt's direction and letting out a little shout when Dave intercepted her, wrapping an arm around her waist and holding her against him.

"Katie," Dave said, sounding a little irritated. "As kind as it is of you to defend my virtue, I am a big boy. Why don't you go home?"

"Fuck that," she snapped back, wriggling in his grasp. "I want a piece of that boy!"

"Oh for God's sake!" Dave tossed the lightsaber onto the couch then wrapped his other arm around her, hoisting her up over his shoulder as she let out a scream, pounding her fists against his big back.

"Put me down, you asshole, before I decide to remove the head of your penis with my nail file!"

Wow. Talk about a deja vu moment. Just how often *did* that woman end up over Dave's shoulder shouting threats to his genitalia?

"Hey, Azimio," Dave said. "Catch." He hoisted Katie's thin frame into the air with a smirk.

"Shit man!" Azimio stumbled back a few feet as the shrieking Katie landed in his arms, slamming hard against the door frame. "Give a guy a little warning before you go tossin' rabid women into his arms!"

"Put me down, dickhead, before I kick your balls so hard they come out your ass!"

Kurt winced. It was times like this that he was very, very grateful to be gay.

"Just get her out of here, Az. Cuff her if you have to." Dave rubbed at his face. "Seriously, I am too tired to deal with all this shit."

Katie let out a loud sigh, smacking at Azimio's arms as they wrapped more tightly around her. "Okay, okay! I'll go! Geez." She turned her gaze on Kurt. "But you fuck with him any more and I will cut you. I will cut you in the *balls* and I promise you-you will never jizz again!"

Azimio made a choking sound and released the woman, shoving her away. "Shit, girl, you stay away from me!"

Katie just glared at him then turned and yanked open the door. "Just remember what I said, Hummel!" She looked over at Dave. "And you better call me later, boy, or I will be back here in the morning shoving my fist so far up your butt it bruises your prostate." She stomped out, slamming the screen door shut behind her.

Azimio winced. "Dear Lord Almighty."

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to meet a cheerleader," Dave said dryly.

Azimio snorted. "Makes me grateful for my wife. Anyway man… you cool?" He shot a look in Kurt's direction.

Dave nodded, sighing, his body slumping again. "Yeah… I'm cool, man." He reached out, knocking his fist against Azimio's. "I'll call you later, okay, bro?"

"You do that," Azimio said as he headed toward the door. "And try not to kill him, okay? I think after that display, Katie would be the number one suspect and we don't want your woman in jail."

Dave shoved the other man's shoulder lightly. "Good bye, Azimio." He shook his head as he shut the door behind the man, then just stood there for a moment, his broad back to Kurt.

Kurt carefully pulled himself to his feet using the back of the couch, eyeing the other man nervously. "Your, uh, wife is… interesting."

"She's an irritating bitch." Dave turned around abruptly, rubbing at his face with his hands. "But I guess you'd know all about irritating bitches." His voice sounded so exhausted and just, well, *defeated*, that Kurt couldn't even muster up the will to snap back with a witty retort.

They just stood there awkwardly for a moment, eyeing each other, before Dave spoke, not quite meeting Kurt's gaze. "So… how did you end up at my house, Hummel?"

Kurt winced at the painfully obvious distancing technique. Hummel. Just Hummel. "Um, Azimio left your address under my windshield wiper. Along with about a thousand parking tickets."

Dave let out an irritated sigh and turned, heading in the direction of the kitchen. "Sorry about that," he said over his shoulder as he opened the fridge. "Don't bother to pay them. I'll make sure he doesn't file them." He pulled out a beer. "You want something to drink?"

Kurt swallowed hard. The careful lack of emotion in Dave's voice was almost painful. "Um, are you planning to poison it?"

Dave looked up, a flash of amusement passing over him before it was replaced by sadness once more. "I'm not quite that pissed at you, Kurt." A bitter laugh. "More likely to drop some cyanide into my own drink. I'm madder at myself than you, anyway. You never owed me shit." He pulled out another beer and shut the door with his foot, moving back around the counter into the living room and plopping down on the cabbage print sofa, gesturing for Kurt to join him.

Kurt did so, a little uncomfortable, perching on the edge of the divan as he took the beer from Dave then immediately set it on the coffee table. He just wasn't in a drinking mood. "This is quite the… interesting sofa."

"Hm? Oh. Yeah, it was my grandma's." He flashed Kurt a sad smile. "It may not be the designer's dream but it's got good memories and shit, y'know?"

Yeah, Kurt knew. The raggedy old quilt that hung over his four thousand dollar couch wasn't a designer's dream, either, but sometimes he could swear that he could still smell his mother's perfume on it.

God, he missed her. Kurt swallowed down the lump in his throat. He was so tired of missing people.

"I'm sorry." Dave's voice was emotionless as he stared down at his lap and Kurt started slightly, letting out a horse laugh.

"You're sorry? For God's sake, I outed you to the world. And you're telling me 'sorry'?"

Dave looked up, shrugging one big shoulder. "Isn't that what you wanted? For me to be sorry?"

Kurt's chest tightened. No. No, that wasn't what he had wanted. Except… it was, wasn't it? He had wanted Dave to be sorry, to feel the same loneliness that Kurt had when he'd woken up to an empty bed. The same loneliness he felt every time he remembered *her.*

"I—"

"Don't lie," Dave cut in, voice a little sharp. "I get it, okay? I scorned you or whatever. Maybe that was fucking stupid." He laughed coldly. "But *look* at you, Hummel. What was the point in staying?"

Ouch. Talk about a smack to his pride. A rush of anger made Kurt's face flush. "What? I wasn't *good* enough for you? Not good enough to be with Mr. Superstar?"

Dave made a disbelieving sound. "Oh, please! Don't bullshit me, Hummel! Like there was any chance of you shacking up with a closeted coward like me. You're, like, the essence of extraordinary and I'm just… as ordinary as you can get. I was just trying to save us some uncomfortable shit, okay?" He shook his head. "And maybe it *was* a little selfish not to want to have to hear another guy tell me how he really likes me, but 'insert stupid excuse that really means I'm a fucking loser.' And there's always a *but*! Especially with a guy like you."

Kurt's brow furrowed a little. He was extraordinary and Dave was the ultimate ordinary? He wasn't sure what scale the man was basing that on, but definitely not on success or money or fame. Dave wasn't ordinary… though Kurt did recall having called him that on occasion.

Seriously, how long was the teenage drama going to haunt them?

Kurt took a deep breath. "I shouldn't have done what I did, okay, Dave? It was… wrong." He grimaced. Wow, that tasted bad. "And trust me, I do not say those words often. In fact, they are somewhat physically painful for me. Sort of a burning sensation in my throat. Like I just gave a couple dozen too many blow jobs in an hour or something."

Dave let out a snort of laughter, shaking his head. "Thanks for that image, Kurt."

At least they were back to first names. "But, Dave… I thought we… had something. Something special. Something that made me feel warm inside and…" Kurt wrapped his arms around himself. And, what? What was that feeling? He knew what that feeling was. It was That Word. But to say it… No. It was too dangerous. That Word could not be spoken lightly. "I don't even know how to describe it." A lie. He gave a choked laugh. "It was a wonderful feeling. But not the kind of feeling I normally have for guys. It was… more special than that. And I knew it was dangerous, and I knew I should run… but it felt so good. So I… went for it. And then when you left… it just hurt all the more. And so… I guess I wanted to hurt you, too. Since you obviously didn't feel the same as I did. It was like I convinced myself that you'd tricked me or something."

Dave stared at him for a moment, then sighed, shaking his head. "Kurt, I wasn't trying to trick you. I…" He made a choked little sound. "Did you know that night was the first time ever that I have ever *proudly* said those words? I just…" He laughed tiredly. "My poor agent has spent the past week working her ass off to cover up that stupid video you sent Jacob Been Asshole and I just keep watching the fucking thing, over and over again. *That's* why I've been running. Because as long as I'm doing something, I can't be sitting on my ass watching that fucking video."

Kurt winced at the pain in the other man's voice. He had caused that pain. "You… why would you watch it?"

Dave snorted. "I dunno. Because it was the closest I've ever come to being happy about myself?" He flashed a dull sort of grin at Kurt. "Don't believe me?" He reached in between the couch cushions and pulled out a remote, raising it in the general direction of the TV. The television came on with a click and a frozen image of Kurt and Dave flashed on the screen, both of them cuddled under the covers, Kurt's holding out the phone to record them, the bigger man's arms wrapped around his bare chest.

Dave hit a button and the image came to life.

"_Oh, come on, just say it! It's not that hard! Just say 'I'm gay!' Come on, David! Just admit who you *are* for once!"_

_Dave rolled his eyes. "Why do I need to say it? You just fucked me up the butt, man. I think that's a pretty good acknowledgement of my sexuality!"_

_Kurt shook his head, flashing a grin at the camera. "Uh uh. You need to stop being so scared of who you are! Just say it! It will feel good, I promise!"_

"_Yeah, it'll feel good until someone steals your phone and finds this tape!"_

_Kurt waved the words away. "David! It's for your own good. Then you can watch this and remember that you're proud of who you are!"_

"_What is this, Homosexuals Anonymous?"_

"_Dave, just *say* it!"_

_Dave laughed, running a big hand along Kurt's chest, flingers toying with his nipple. "Fine, fine! My name is David Karofsky," he said in a deep, serious tone, "and I am a homosexual-aholic!"_

_Kurt giggled loudly, smacking at Dave with his palm. "Stop being silly! Seriously, Dave. You don't have to be ashamed of who you are! Be proud!"_

"_I am proud."_

"_No, you're not! You always avoid taking about it directly. There is nothing wrong with being gay, Dave. You have to admit that to yourself before you can really be happy!"_

_Dave rolled his eyes again. "Okay, okay." He bent his head, nuzzling at Kurt's ear, then looked back up at the camera, smiling broadly. "I'm gay, okay? I'm gay and I'm proud to be gay! And if you don't like it? Well, Dave Karofsky says screw you!" Another big smile. "I'll be who I want to be, and I'll love who I want to love! Because there is nothing wrong with being who I am. And I'm proud to be gay!"_

There was a click and the screen froze once more, the faces of both men staring down at them with enormous smiles.

Dave chuckled quietly. "You're braver than I ever will be, Hummel. And you *are* better off without me. Let's face it. I'm fucked up. Here I am watching the tape that's bringing my life down around me over and over again because, honestly? It was the happiest ten minutes of my life. I've never said it like that, did you know that? Never. Oh, I've been like, 'mumble mumble, I'm gay, mumble mumble' or 'yeah, I'm a fag, I'm a homo, I'm a queer—deal with it or I'll break your face.' But you were right. I'm not proud. I've never been proud. I've always seen it as the elephant in the room that I just don't want to talk about. The big, gay elephant. But for a few minutes, I really felt what life might be like if I was out and proud. And I already miss it." Dave ducked his head, palming at his face. "I miss it, but I'll do everything I can to make sure no one believes it. And you don't get much more cowardly than that. You're braver than I am and you deserve better than me."

For the love of… "You know what? As much as the following three words make me want to puke on my designer loafers: Azimio was right. You really are an idiot!"

Dave snorted, raising an eyebrow at Kurt. "Yeah, I think that's what I just said."

Kurt shook his head in disbelief. "No! I didn't mean… Dammit, Dave! Why do you hate yourself so much?"

"What?" Dave let out a short laugh. "I don't hate myself."

"I don't think I've heard you say a single good thing about yourself since we first ran into you at Breadstix!"

"Yeah, well, you haven't exactly known me for long," Dave replied, his tone a little defensive considering that he was avoiding the other man's eyes entirely.

Kurt took a deep breath and reached out slowly, gently brushing his finger's against Dave's. The man flinched but Kurt didn't pull away, wrapping his hand around those big fingers instead. "I'm not the only one whose noticed, David. I think Azimio's words were 'as much self-esteem as a rock'? Something like that."

Dave pulled his hand back and Kurt let him, the look on the man's face sending another rush of guilt through him. How could he have done this to Dave? What was *wrong* with him? Had he really thought hurting a person he cared about would make him feel *better*?

"Look, I don't try to fool myself, okay? I used to." Dave laughed hoarsely. "I tried so, so hard not to be… *this*." He gestured vaguely toward himself. "I wanted to date girls and get married and have kids and take them camping and to see grandma and grandpa and to the beach and to Disneyworld. I just wanted to be your average, middle-class American male. That was the only dream I ever had." He made a choked little sound. "And boy, did I try to fool myself. For *years* I lied to myself. I didn't suddenly figure it all out that year, Kurt. I *always* knew. But I decided that, no—I wouldn't be *that*. I would get what I wanted. Then I met you. And I realized that I was fooling myself. I would never be normal."

Dave shrugged. "It was like a punch to the face. And it rocked my world. So much that it would never be the same. So I swore that I would never pretend. About anything." He let out a bitter laugh. "Of course, the truth is that I've been pretending to everybody. Being honest to *myself* might keep me from wanting to hang myself in a closet or whatever, but it doesn't make for a happy life when everything else is lies. But I will not lie to *myself.* That is the one person I can be honest to. And I know what I am: a big, dumb coward who is too much of a scared little boy to allow myself to tell the truth—even if it's the one thing that would really make me happy. Because I just can't risk losing what I have. I'm a coward. You're the brave one."

"That's not true, Dave," Kurt said, choking up a little. "You think I'm so much better than you?" He reached out, cupping Dave's face and tilting it until their eyes were level. "You want to know *my* secret? I'm just as much as a coward, if not more, than you are. You know why I sent Ben Israel that video for him to show to the world? Because I was afraid. Afraid of all the feelings in here." He gently touched his chest. "And it made me *angry.* Angry that I was feeling those things at all. So instead of having to think about what they were and what I should do, I decided to take that anger out on you."

Kurt sniffled, rubbing at his nose with the back of his hand. "I… I lost someone. Someone very close to me. A long time ago, when I was very young. And I went through life doing the best I could to be normal. But it hurt me. It hurt me *bad*. And it left scars. Big scars. The kind of scars that never go away. That you just have to learn to deal with. And I never wanted to feel that pain again. So I have always been careful—*so* careful—about who I let in." He rubbed tiredly at his face, not caring that he was probably smearing his mascara all over his face. The black marks would suit his mood. "And then you come along and BANG—it's like you're a fucking part of me in a single weekend. And it was terrifying. But also wonderful."

"And then I disappeared." Dave's soft words were tinged with pain and the guilt washed over Kurt again. "After you trusted me. Kurt… it's my fault, okay? I know it's my fault. You just did what you felt you had to do—"

"Bullshit." Kurt's voice came out harsher than he meant it to. "I did what I did to hurt you. I knew your weak spots and I took full advantage. I wanted to punish you for something that wasn't even your fault. It was one fucking night. Why the hell did I expect it to mean more?" His voice caught and he swallowed down the rising tears. "Honestly, I don't know what happened. I don't let people in like that. I just *don't*. And this is why. But what I did to you was much worse. I… I don't know how to fix it. But I would if I could."

"Me too."

Him too. What did that mean? That he would fix what Kurt had done or that he'd fix it all? Fix them.

"Dave. I am really, truly sorry that I hurt you. I wish… I wish I could take it back."

Dave sighed deeply. "S'okay, Kurt. What's done is done. My agent will do what she can to spin a tall tale. The people will accept it or that won't. It's out of my hands." He shrugged tiredly. "In the end, it doesn't matter who fucked up. The fact is, it's pretty fucked up. Fucked up beyond repair."

Kurt stared down at his hands, trying to fight back the tears rising in his eyes. No. It couldn't end like this. This wasn't how it was supposed to end.

"I *am* sorry. I really wish this had turned out differently. Because you are beautiful and wonderful and talented, and pretty much the epitome of everything I ever wanted." Dave laughed dryly. "But I can't do it. I can't be the kind of guy you need or that *any* guy needs." He nodded toward the TV, where their laughing faces were still frozen in time. "Because I can't do that. I can't. And I can guarantee that, in the next few days, I'm gonna be sitting across from a reporter for ESPN explaining how that tape was, like, digitally manipulated and how it's all a bunch of bullshit and, oh, hey, meet my beautiful and extremely bustful bride, Katie!" He shook his head, looking a little disgusted. "You aren't a one night stand, Kurt, but I can't be more than that. Because I can't even admit who the fuck I am."

"Dave…" Kurt's voice was strained. Not surprising considering that he felt like sobbing. "I… I don't want it to end like this."

"Did it ever start?"

Ouch. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Kurt wasn't sure if that comment had been meant to cut, but he was pretty sure that it had sliced his belly open. His intestines were probably all over the floor right now. Next stop: his heart.

"Dave I—" Whatever plea he had been about to make was cut off when Dave suddenly leaned forward, pressing his lips against Kurt's.

God, those lips. Warm and firm, pressing against his. Kurt's stomach fluttered, a warmth rising inside him—

Suddenly the pressure was gone.

"So we'll end it like that, then." Dave shook his head and climbed to his feet, looking down at Kurt. "I'm sorry Kurt, I really am." You could hear the pain in the man's voice as he turned his head, eying the image of them cuddled up together. "But I think it's time for you to go."

Kurt wrapped his arms around himself, blinking rapidly. He wouldn't cry. He wouldn't cry. He *wouldn't*. It would all be okay. It wasn't *really* a loss, after all. He'd never really *had* Dave, how could he lose him? It was just a—

Oh, fuck that shit. Kurt was tired of lies. Tired of pretending that he didn't know what that feeling was. He knew damn well what it was, and he wasn't going to lose it again.

"Dave, please!" He stood up, moving over to the other man, reaching out to grab at those big biceps. "I was wrong. I was so, so wrong! It was all me. Please, please, please!" Tears ran down Kurt's face. Yeah, his mascara was definitely screwed. And for once, he really didn't care. "I don't want it to end like this!"

Dave stared down at him for a long moment then looked away, face pained. "I'm sorry, Kurt. But this isn't right. Not for me and not for you. It may have started out beautiful, but I think we've proven that it wasn't meant to last."

"No!" Kurt grabbed at Dave's sweat-dampened shirt, trying to tug the bigger man toward him. "No, we are not going to end it like this! When I said I couldn't describe how I felt? I lied, okay? I love you! That's why I did it. Because I love you. And I don't love easy, Dave. So when you left, it hurt. Hurt more than anything has in a long time. But it hurt because I *love* you! I love you!"

Dave laughed hoarsely, pushing away Kurt's hands. "This isn't a movie, Kurt, and those three words don't make a happy ending. I… care about you, too. A lot. And that's why this can't happen. With this whole video thing, I'm gonna be farther in the closet than ever. I'll be finding gifts from three Christmases ago. Hell, I'll be lucky if my agent doesn't try and get me to impregnate Katie-pie with a turkey baster! Kurt, I never meant to hurt you. Because… I love you, too. And that's why you need to go. Because I love you and you may think you love me, but you need someone who can love you openly. And that's *not* me. I'm sorry, baby, but we're not Romeo and Juliet."

"That's right," Kurt snapped back, voice urgent. "Because Romeo and Juliet were a fucking tragedy, Dave! Taylor Swift is a dipshit—it wasn't a love story, they died in the end, dammit! And that's not us! That can't be us… Please, Dave." His voice collapsed into a sob and he reached out again, trying to pull Dave toward him.

"No, Kurt." Dave's voice was hoarse but firm. "Kurt, it is time for you to leave."

No, no, no. This could not be happening. Not when he'd finally admitted what he felt. He had to fix this. How could he fix this?

Dave planted a hand on the small of Kurt's back, softly directly the man toward the door. Kurt was hardly aware of Dave pushing him toward the door as his mind continued to race. He had to fix this! He loved him, he couldn't lose him!

Dave opened the door and Kurt obediently stepped out onto the porch, mind screaming a thousand things he needed to say.

"Goodbye, Kurt." The door shut behind him.

No.

Kurt wiped at his face with his sleeve as more tears poured down his cheeks. God, how had he fucked it up so bad? How could he have let his own fears ruin something so good? How? How could this have happened?

Kurt swallowed hard, wrapping his arms around himself as he half-walked, half-stumbled down the steps, staggering through the yard toward his car, not even noticing as he knocked over a flamingo on the way. If he had thought he'd felt cold inside before… he hadn't even known the meaning of cold. His heart felt like it had been dropped in Antarctica.

God, he wished his mom was here. Kurt leaned heavily against the side of his car, choking back another sob. Just to feel her arms around him would be so nice…

"Well, well, look what we have here."

Kurt started, spinning around as a low voice came from behind him. What the—

His eyes widened as he came face to face with an enormous chest. That was not the height that a man's chest was supposed to be at. Kurt tipped his head up, breath catching as he met the eyes of one very, very big man. Who was…? Oh, God. Kurt sucked in a deep breath. He recognized that oversized, Neanderthal look. It was that coach, the one who had been such an ass. Mark or Marco or something.

"Well, if it isn't Karofsky's little pet faggot."

Kurt leaned more heavily up against the side of his car. This was not good. He should scream or something. But that would be a little weird. Marky-whoever was probably just here to see Dave…

"I took a job with the Cowboys this year, working for that asshole Jerry Jones, because I want a fucking Super Bowl ring, queer. And as much as I despise having that doofus of a homo in my locker room, the Cowboys won the Super Bowl two seasons ago 'cause Dave Karofsky was on the team. And if he decides to come out to the world as the fucking fairy he is? He probably won't be on the team for long."

The arrogant, homophobic asshole! Kurt stuck his chin in the air. "I don't think Dave's sexuality is any of your business."

The man snorted. "Oh, I think it's very much my business—he's *my* player! But you got the faggot twisted around your finger, dontcha? He won't listen to shit I have to say as long as you're around. So you know what? I don't think I want you around."

Kurt's stomach did a flip, his heart pounding as he fumbled with his keys, moving to pull open the door. "Stay the hell away from me!"

"I don't think so." Kurt let out a yell as the man grabbed him by the shoulders and bodily threw him down on the concrete, his head slamming hard against the pavement. Kurt's vision blurred as the man smiled down cruelly. "Nighty night, faggot."

Everything went black.

...

To Be Continued...


	18. Ch 18: 1 Draft Choice

**FYI**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

******Author's Notes:** There is a tiny bit of crossover from the ABC Family show 'Greek' in the flashback-Cappie is the Kappa Tau president and 'Timmy' is the Kappa Tau pet snake that MY new baby albino Kingsnake was named after! (Oh, any thank thefirstmrshummel for getting this before next week 'cause my lazy ass has been putting off posting and they reminded me, LOL!)

.

**Chapter 18: #1 Draft Choice  
**

.

_Dave hadn't realized how much a grass skirt could make a man's balls itch. Guess that was what he got for not wearing anything underneath it._

_He sighed as he adjusted his coconut bra, turning his head to look at the eyes staring deeply at him. "Aw, Timmy. I'm gonna miss you soooo much, man. I dunno who's gonna take care of you when I'm gone. All the other pledges are pussies. I guess Beaver will have to feed you your mice, bro. I love you so much, man."_

_The enormous boa did what snakes do best and continued to sit, unmoving, on his branch, eyes unblinking through the glass._

"_You understand, don't you, Timmy? People—they don't like you just 'cause you're enormous and could strangle them to death! But that's just the way you are. It's how you were, like, born, man! You just wanna be one of the boys, but the other pledges are all scared of you." Dave made a choked sound, a tear running down his face. "Poor, poor Timmy. *I'll* always love you! Maybe we can get married one day! Except we're both boys and that's not even leeegal." Dave reached out in a valiant effort to hug the tank, managing to deposit himself, and his coconuts, on the floor next to an empty back of Doritos._

"_Had a few too many shots I see, big little brother?"_

_Dave started, jerking upward then grabbing at his forehead as the room began to spin._

"_Cappie! Why are you dancin'?"_

_The boy let out a short laugh as he shut the door behind him. "What can I say? I call it the alcohol spin."_

"_S'cool." Dave turned his head back to Timmy, smiling sadly. "Poor Timmy. He just wants to be ones of the guys! Buts no matter where he goes he can never just be one of the boys y'know? Just 'cause he's all slithery and can unhinge his jaw doesn't mean he shouldn't be loooooved!"_

"_You know what, big boy?" Cappie said, pulling out a chair and sitting backward in it, leaning his arms against the back. "You are absolutely right. There are way too many people out there who don't like Timmy. It's not *his* fault he can't create his own body heat!"_

_Dave nodded seriously. "Tha's right! You see? Tha's what I mean!" He sniffled. "All the other pledges are scared of him! When I gots to go, who will feed him his mouseys? Who will makes sure his lamp is on so he can be warm and happiness?"_

"_Aw, but who cares what a bunch of pledges think? See, Timmy's a brother, D! The brothers aren't scared of him just 'cause he could strangle us to death! That's just how he is." Cappie raised a finger. "*But*, I don't think it's going to be a problem because you, my big little brother pledge, are not going anywhere."_

_Dave let out a loud sigh. "I'd looooove to be one of the bros, Cappie. Dat's all I *ever* wanted. But it's just not gonna *work*! 'Cause it's not *gay*, it's BROTHERLY LOVE!" He waved his hands around a little madly, which made the world tip._

_Damn world._

_Cappie chuckled. "Aw, yeah, well, we gotta diffuse our obviously homoerotic hazing *somehow*, right? But I don't see why it won't work. I mean Timmy there is a brother and not just because he's got a double headed penis. We *appreciate* him for who he is—our uber-cool snake buddy. Just 'cause *our* snakes can't wrap themselves around the entirety of our girlfriends bodies—which yours, from what I can see under that skirt, almost *could—doesn't mean we don't think Timmy is awesome."_

_Dave reached down, tugging at the grass on his skirt. "Makes my balls itch… anyway… I don' think mah pledge bros are cool with me, Cappie. Jake walked in on me doin' somethin' that was loverly but not so much brotherly with that cute dude from my lit class a few minutes ago and he kinda freaked."_

"_Yeah… I heard him scream all the way down at the water slide. But don't worry, most of the luau just thought he was doing a Hawaiian war dance."_

_Dave sighed deeply. "Cappie, I gots to tell you somethin' and it's probably gonna get me kicked outta Kappa Tau but I gotta."_

_Cappie leaned forward, a serious look on his face. "Oh yeah? And what's that, big little bro?"_

"_Cappie… I fuck guys. And also your shoe. But that's 'cause I was drunk. The shoe, not the dudes."_

"_Ah. Okay." Cappie paused, putting a finger thoughtfully to his lips. "Well, not okay about my shoe—though Beaver already peed in it so I guess it can't get any worse—but about the other."_

"_Really?" Dave tried to lean forward and managed trip over his own arm. Somehow._

"_Well, somebody's gotta feed Timmy his mouses, right?"_

"_What about Jake's screamin'?"_

_Cappie shrugged. "Hey, the brothers got bigger worries, likes beer and sex and parties and licorice flavored corn dogs. If Jake's got a problem with you—or Timmy—well, we have a front door and he can walk out of it."_

_Dave blinked, eyes tearing up again. "Oh Cappie. I loooove you, man. And Timmy, too!" He grabbed onto the edge of the desk, attempting to haul himself to his feet and succeeded in tipping backward onto the bed behind him._

"_Aw, thanks man," Cappie said, standing up with a grin. "How about you stay up here with Timmy and sleep off the thirty seven tequila shots you just did, okay? I'll handle the other pledges."_

_Dave sniffed again. "I still one of da boooys?"_

_Cappie laughed. "Yeah, one of the boys."_

_._

_.  
_

The door was closed. Shut. Bang, clank, snap. It just seemed so… final. Was this really it? Was it really over with Kurt?

It felt like such a big deal. Why the fuck did it feel like such a big deal? He hadn't seen the man in *years* and they'd only hooked up once. How many one night stands had he had throughout the years? More than he could count on his fingers and toes, that was for sure, 'cause he and his frat boys had used to color them in in marker and by the end of every fucking semester he'd have rainbow fingers.

Rainbow fingers. Ha. Symbolism bit you on the butt everywhere, didn't it?

He had just felt so *free*, that night with Kurt, as he'd wrapped his arms around that slim chest and announced what he was to, well, not the world—he'd assumed—but to the camera, at least. He hadn't felt that free since college when he'd come out to his frat brothers and they hadn't given a shit. They'd been more worried about the fact that there was a hole in their lucky blow up doll. God, he missed those years, before he'd been famous, before he'd had to hide what he was. When he was just one of the boys, no paranoia creeping over his shoulder as ESPN roamed around his house and the paparazzi hid in his bushes.

Had Perez Hilton *really* thought he'd mistake that hat for a sunflower?

But even then, at the fucking University of Texas, a top party school in one of the most liberal cities in the nation with his 'who gives a shit' brothers and a bunch of hippies that flooded the streets with pride parades every year, he had never really felt free to stand up and be *proud* of who he was. Not like he had that night with Kurt.

He'd closed the door on Kurt, but had he closed it on his own damn foot, too? God knows he'd done it enough times when he was drunk, he should know what it felt like—even in a metaphorical sense. Did he *really* want to be all alone, hiding behind a bunch of bullshit for the next ten years of his life just so he could play ball? Was it really worth his *happiness*? Because that was what he had felt that night.

It had been a long, long time since Dave had been that happy. And Kurt had been the one to bring it out.

God, these deep thoughts were really hurting his Neanderthal head.

Dave sighed and turned away from the closed door and all its depressing metaphors, rubbing his eyes tiredly as he moved into the kitchen, pausing to open the backdoor and let the dogs in.

Snickerdoodle bounded in with a loud bark, running in little circles around Dave while Batman made whimpering noises, shoving his nose against his daddy's hand. Miss Fluffers pranced in, as proper as ever, her fluffy black tail wagging and her nose in the air.

She kind of reminded him of Kurt.

Dave let out a little laugh, shaking his head as he opened the fridge and pulled out another beer. Might as well get drunk. That should get his mind off Kurt. It had worked in college, anyway. It had also landed him crabs, but that was another story all together.

There was no point in lingering over Kurt, anyway. It was over, after all. Done. They were done. It wasn't like there was any *reason* for him to turn around and open that door—

Miss Fluffers made a woofing sound, trotting over to Dave with a particularly self-enamored strut to her step, something pink and fluffy hanging out of her mouth. Goddammit, if Katie had left another bra in his bathtub…

"Whatcha got there, little lady?" Dave set his beer on the counter and crouched down, reaching out to pet Miss Fluffers. "Lemme see, silly girl…" Dave petted Fluffers' head carelessly as he pulled out his little queen's prize. An enormous, pink… feather?

Dave raised an eyebrow. Where the hell had Fluffers found a feather? Snickerdoodle whined and Dave reached over to pet the pitbull as he stared down at the feather. "Where in the world did you find—" Dave cut off abruptly. It was a giant pink feather. In his house. Considering he didn't own any drag, it probably wasn't his. Katie had definitely not been wearing any feathers or lace tonight and it just wasn't Az's style. That just left Kurt. Kurt, who had been wearing a shocking pink shirt and a fedora.

Dave glanced over at the door, swallowing down a nervous lump. It was just a feather. Kurt could replace it, wherever the hell it had come from. The hat, maybe? Or just up his fancy ass. Who knew with that boy. He was probably gone by now anyway. But if he wasn't…

Dave tongued his cheek a little nervously as he stared at the door. It wouldn't *hurt* anything just to *check*…

He stood abruptly, feather in hand, and moved determinedly toward the door, causing Batman and Snickers to run ahead of him as Fluffers watched disdainfully.

Silly dogs.

Dave opened the door, pushing the Doberman and the pit back with his foot as he stepped out, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the quickly darkening evening light. There was still a car parked at his curb. But the figure next to it… That was way, *way* too big to be Kurt…

"I don't think so. Nighty night, faggot."

The words seemed to echo in the low light, vicious and low. Dave knew that voice. That angry, cruel voice.

Oh, God… Kurt!

Dave bounded down the steps, fists clenched as he crossed the lawn in a couple of strides, headed for the car. No, no, no, no, no! If that motherfucker had laid one *finger* on Kurt, he was *dead*!

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, you son of a bitch?"

Apparently the yelling was enough for the dogs because Snickers was suddenly under Dave's feet, Batman and Fluffers close at his heels, all the dogs barking as he grabbed Marcus from behind and whirled him around, sending him flying hard into the side of the car. "What the hell did you do?" The words came out a little more like a roar and a panicked look crossed over the other man's face.

Kurt! Where was Kurt? Dave turned, adrenaline pumping, his eyes widening as they came across Kurt's unmoving body.

"Oh my god, Kurt!"

Dave made to run toward the man but Marcus grabbed him from behind, his big arms wrapping around Dave's chest as his body slammed them both to the ground. Dave grunted as his chest hit pavement, his ribs screaming as almost three hundred pounds of man collapsed on top of him without any pads to protect. The motherfucker!

Dave elbowed the other man hard in the ribs and Marcus let out a cry, tipping over just enough for Dave to shove him off.

Marcus pushed himself up as Dave made a pained sound, his ribs aching with every breath as he tried to get up on his feet. The bastard!

"I'm gonna kill—"

Batman interrupted with a loud growl, baring his teeth, and Snickerdoodle joined in, moving between the two men. Marcus swore.

"Call off your fucking dogs and face me like a *real* man, queer!"

Dave snorted, pushing himself to his feet. "I'm not a little boy, asswit! I don't need to face you like a real men 'cause you've got no balls-and real men have balls! Jumping pretty little men in the dark? Real manly, Marcus! Fuck you! You are over, man! Over!" Dave stumbled over toward Kurt, kneeling down next to him, heart pounding. Oh, God, let him be okay! "No, you're not just over—you're dead!"

"You threatening me, faggot? You can't do shit to me! I'll tell them all what you are and then you'll be on every real man's hit list! You're gonna be out of the NFL faster than you can say 'cocksucker' if you mess with me!"

Dave reached over, running his fingers down Kurt's neck. Please, please, please… Oh, God. A pulse. Thank God. "You were a shitty player, Marcus, and you're a shitty coach! I may be a faggot—" Dave choked slightly as he dug into his pocket, trying to find his cell phone. He wanted to pull Kurt into his arms, protect him, but he shouldn't move him. He shouldn't. He *couldn't.* "I may be a faggot, but at least I can play! So fuck you! That Superbowl ring you want so bad? It's never gonna be yours because your ass is gonna be in prison!"

Dave sobbed slightly as he ran fingers down the side of Kurt's face. There was a cut on his temple and the side of his face was already bruising, but at least he was breathing, thank God.

Marcus made a furious sound and started forward then leapt back with a yell as a flurry of fluffiness launched herself at him, latching onto his ankle with sharp teeth. Miss Fluffer's stand was apparently enough for Snickers and Batman because, with loud barks, they jumped on him, sending him stumbling back as he tried unsuccessfully to fight them off.

Batman and Snickerdoodle were big, bad boys, but Fluffers was truly the bitch of the pack.

Marcus managed to shove the dogs away enough to run, kicking and cursing as he stumbled down the street, blood running down his arms as the dogs chased him, barking madly.

Dave stared after him for a moment then glanced down at Kurt's still form and gritted his teeth. Let the bastard run. He wouldn't be able to hide. Not from Dave. Not after what he'd done to Kurt.

Dave continued to pet Kurt's face as he struggled to hit the 9-1-1 buttons on his touch phone with his shaking fingers, tears running down his face. Oh, God, Kurt…

"9-1-1, what's your emergency?"

"Oh, God, a guy just attacked my friend, he's unconscious. My dogs chased the guy off. We're at 701 Periwinkle, near Bowen and Park Row. I need an ambulance."

.

ooo

.

Dave sat dully on the step, staring down at his begonias as he absently petted Snickerdoodle, who was curled up on his lap, whining a little. He'd locked Fluffers and Batman in the bedroom, but Snickers had been so upset, all shaking and whimpering…

The flowers looked dull with just the porch light shining down on them, their beauty dulled by shadows and darkness.

Wow, that was macabre. Dave sighed and looked away, staring up into the night sky instead. No shooting stars tonight, but he was pretty sure that the twinkling glimmer off to the right had moved a few inches in the last half hour. A satellite? Maybe he could wish on that instead.

He squeezed his eyes shut then opened them quickly, not that it really helped. Open or closed, the image of Kurt being bundled up into that ambulance, blood running down his pale face, silent and unmoving was burned into his mind. He'd be okay. He had to be okay. They'd said he'd be okay. It was probably nothing more than a concussion, some bruised ribs… Right?

God, how could he know for sure? The police had pulled him away so fast and, before he'd known it, the paramedics were off into the night, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

He should just go to the hospital. Yeah, his agent would kill him, he'd be breaking some contracts he'd signed this week, but the world would keep spinning. And he'd know how Kurt was nothing worse than just not knowing.

Dave must have tensed because Snickers whimpered and Dave let out a deep breath, rubbing at the dog's head. "S'okay, boy," he muttered, wishing he knew it was true. "It'll all be okay."

Why the hell *wasn't* he at the hospital? What kind of coward was he, just sitting here on his porch while Kurt could be dying all because of *him.* Why was he so damn scared?

When he'd seen Kurt lying there, unmoving… it was like he'd missed the bus to paradise. So many times in his life he'd thought it was All Over. When he'd kissed Kurt in the locker room. When he'd wrapped that belt around his neck. When his pledge brother had walked in on him making mad boylove in the frat house. When he'd been informed that they were taking the NFL far beyond 'don't ask, don't tell' and he'd had to stick a finger on Katie's finger.

But none of it had felt like THIS. The thought that Kurt had been so close and that Dave might have lost him forever if Fluffers hadn't found that damn feather… And not just forever, but FOREVER. I made him almost physically ill.

So why, why, why was he still sitting here?

This wasn't right. It wasn't right at all. Why the hell did he have to spend his life being afraid? Why the fuck couldn't he just be who he *was*? What was so wrong with him that he had to live some secret fucking life like he was a goddamn boa constrictor but the world couldn't know 'cause it was just so *fucked up*… Timmy was lucky. At least *he* still lived at the Kappa Tau house where snakes were cool and gay guys were just bros.

"Hey man. Nice feather."

Dave started slightly and Snickerdoodle jumped off his lap with a loud bark. Azimio took a step back as the dog growled, raising his hands up in surrender.

"Whoa, puppy. It's cool. Don't make me cuff you, mutt."

Dave gave a short laugh. "Stop that!" He grabbed the dog by the collar, pulling him back. "Sorry, dude. He's pretty freaked out."

"I can see why. His pappa *does* have a giant pink feather stuck behind one ear."

Dave shook his head, reaching up to touch it. "Fuck, Azimio… I almost didn't find him. Marcus could have killed him. And the fucker still got away."

"Yeah, well, we'll find him. He won't get far. And at least Snickers there tore the bastard up pretty good."

Dave grinned wearily. "Actually, that was mostly Miss Fluffers. You do *not* want to get on that furball's bad side. She's like Katie that way."

"Well, Katie is kind of a bitch," Azimio said settling down on the step next to Dave. "So… how's Kurt?"

Dave sighed, running a hand tiredly though his hair. "I dunno, man. I haven't been to the hospital."

Azimio raised an eyebrow. "And why not?"

Dave swallowed hard. "I dunno, man. I should. I mean, I want to. Sort of. I just… I don't know what to do, man."

Azimio nodded, smirking a little. "Yeah. It's a tough one. Sit on your fat ass here in the dark or go see your lady lover—excuse me, your boy love—in the hospital. That's a difficult decision."

"He's not my—" Dave cut off, choking. "God, I don't know. I feel so crazy, man. I mean… When I saw Kurt on the ground it was like… like…"

"Like someone had shoved their hand up your anus, ripped your heart into confetti and blew it out your nose?" Azimio said helpfully, smiling a little.

Dave let out a huff of laughter. "Gee, man, how did you know?"

"Well, that's pretty much how *I* felt when *my* lady love went into labor three months early and I saw my little baby lying there, so little, just a machine keeping that little baby-heart beating…" Azimio trailed off, and they sat in silence for a moment before he spoke again, voice low. "Man, I can read it all over your face. I don't know what happened between you and the princess, but I do know that look. And that is the look of love. Maybe I didn't know before, but I can see it now, bro. It's been tested, and that is love, my man." Azimio raised an eyebrow. "So maybe you should get your ass in a car."

Dave gave a choked sigh. "I know, God I *know*. But what about *football*, Az? What about my fucking *life*? Everything I've done, everything I've made…"

Azimio shrugged. "Hey, dude, you were the one who taught me you can be a football player *and* a fag."

Dave laughed, then rubbed at his eyes. God, he was exhausted, but the adrenaline was shooting so hard he wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to sleep again. "But what about all this media shit? God, Az, I sighed a fucking contract to keep my trap shut about this. If they find out I went to see Kurt… it'll all be over."

Azimio bit his lip, chewing at it for a moment before he spoke. "Look, man. They—whoever the hell that general, meatphorical 'they' is—say that sometimes you gotta lose something to know how much you love it. So you love football and you love Kurt. You've been pretty close to the brink on losing them both now. So what you gotta decide now… which one shoved a hand up your butt, tore up your heart, and shot it through your nose like beer after a bad joke? Your career or Kurt?" Azimio raised an eyebrow and Dave stared at him for a long moment.

He loved football. The feel of turf under his feet, the ball in his hands, the slam of body on body. But there was only one thing that had ever shoved a hand up his ass and ripped his heart into pieces, and it wasn't the feel of pigskin.

Dave reached up, gently touching the feather stuck behind his ear. "I better get to the hospital."


	19. Ch 19: Instant Replay

**FYI**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

******Author's Notes:** Sorry about the long, LONG wait. I needed a break from fandom but I am back and am going to do my best to keep on schedule getting a chapter out every other week! :)

.

**Chapter 19: Instant Replay  
**

.

Everything hurt. It was the first thing that came to Kurt's mind as he blearily opened his eyes, but certainly not the most pressing matter. As soon as his vision cleared he was, in fact, faced with a much more dire situation: a tan paper dress that completely washed out his skin tone and clashed horrifically with his Flamingo Bingo pink nail polish.

Throbbing pain, breathtakingly horrific fashion... Oh, God. He was in hell. Maybe he should have bought into the God thing after all.

"Ah, Mr. Hummel! It is good to see you awake!"

Kurt blinked several times, trying his best to focus with his eyelids drooping so heavily-which, considering that he was well-used to bearing the weight of some rather hardcore fake lashes, meant that his lids felt heavy indeed. He finally managed to turn toward the voice, licking at his dry lips as he reached a hand up to touch his aching forehead. Just the light press of his fingertip made the pain worsen and he winced, dropping his hand. "Wh…" He coughed a little, his throat to dry to even speak, then gratefully sipped at the little cup of water suddenly before his lips. After a moment he cleared his throat again, blinking up at the scrub-clad man above him. "Where am I?"

"You're in the hospital," the man replied, setting the cup down on a table next to the bed Kurt was lying on.

Right. As a silly question Everything in shades of white, grey, and blue with cheap curtains for walls and a paper dress that tied in the back making up his couture? Unless someone snuck into his apartment at night and redecorated his room with a General Hospital theme, it was pretty obvious that he was in a hospital. The real question being: why the hell was he here? And who had let them dress him in this nightmare gown? Wasn't that like reviving a person with a Do Not Resuscitate contract?

"Arlington Methodist Hospital, in fact." The nurse smiled down at him and Kurt returned it weakly. Under other circumstances he might have tried to play up this moment—the nurse was quite a handsome man, despite his balloon print scrubs—but it was really hard to admire the view through the pounding in his brain.

"How… why am I in the hospital?" And where the hell was Arlington Methodist Hospital? Kurt bit his lip. Something was missing here. And not just a few pieces—this was a puzzle far from complete.

"You were attacked on the street," the nurse said idly as he studied the clip board he was holding. "I'm not sure exactly what happened, but apparently you were visiting a friend and got jumped outside his home. Maybe muggers? I really don't know the details."

The man's voice… the accent wasn't *heavy*, exactly—it wasn't Dolly Parton by any means—but there was a subtle drawl to it, a bit of a country twang. Definitely not Ohio speak.

"Um, if I may ask… where, exactly, *is* Arlington Methodist Hospital? How far from Lima am I?"

The nurse raised an eyebrow as he set aside his clipboard, moving back over to Kurt. "The doctor mentioned that you might have a little memory loss. We are in Texas, Mr. Hummel. Arlington, Texas. I really don't know about your lima beans... I don't think you were eating at the time of attack..."

Kurt frowned deeply. Texas? What the hell would he be doing in *Texas* of all places? Hunting the rolling plains for studly cowboys? Keith Urban *was* rather attractive and Miley Cyrus' father Billy Ray could be Kurt's daddy *any* day, but, seriously… Why the fuck would he be in Texas?

"I was attacked? In *Texas*?" Kurt swallowed down the lump rising in his throat. He just needed to stay calm. The racing of his mind was *definitely* not helping the pounding in his head. "I don't understand! What's going on? How could I just forget… oh God!"

The nurse reached out, grabbing at his hand and squeezing lightly. "Okay, you just need to relax, Mr. Hummel. No need to panic. I know that amnesia can be *very* disturbing. I am not certain why you are in Texas—you're not from here I take it?" Kurt shook his head. "All I know is that you were brought in by EMS about an hour ago. Apparently you were attacked outside the home of a famous sports player. I'm not sure who, exactly, or what sport, or any of that. I wish I could tell you more, but I really don't know the details myself. The doctor should be in here in a few minutes and hopefully he can offer you a better explanation to what happened."

Kurt stared at him a little disbelievingly. "I was attacked at a famous *sports* player's house?" Good God, the closest he'd ever come to sports was his short lived position on the McKinley High Titans and that time where he'd considerately stepped in to play on behalf of a close friend who had been debilitated by a terrible hangover for a sorority house powder puff football playoff. And really, how could he have resisted? The tight pink uniforms had just been so cute!

"Where is my dad? Why aren't I in Lima? What is going on?" God, he hated hospitals. Kurt had many less than fond memories of these places, and not knowing why he was even here was certainly not helping his usual nerves any at all. His head was pounding so fast that he was actually beginning to sweat, heaven help him. It was like he'd fallen asleep and woken up in a rerun of ER, only with no George Clooney or Noah Wyle in sight. Which was really too bad. Noah Wyle had quite a nice ass, after all. If he had to wake up in a hospital rerun shouldn't he at least get the chance to ogle Noah Wyle?

The nurse frowned. "As I said, I am really not sure… what's the last thing you remember?"

A fair question. It was somewhat harder to answer than it should have been, however, considering that thinking in general made his head feel like someone was shoving nail files through his eye sockets. He'd been planning something… a reunion. Yeah, a Glee reunion. Sue, as usual, had been doing her best to halt the effort, so he and Shannon had been coordinating their efforts by inviting the football team as well.

Kurt furrowed his brow. The football team… Could that have something to do with this mysterious "sports player" whose house he had managed to get bludgeoned before? He couldn't imagine that any of those lugs had actually gone onto professional play. His brother, God bless his soul, could barely count his own fingers and toes, much less come up with game plays. Most of the other boys had been too small for football, at least if the hulking fatsos you saw on Gatorade commercials were a good example of your average helmet head. Only Azimio, Karofsky, and possibly Strando had asses big enough to play and he was pretty sure that Azimio had gotten married and become, like, a fireman or something strangely upstanding like that. Strando was in prison for trying to steal a SmartCar out of the Lima Municipal Court's parking garage, which was just the place where idiots who try to steal judges' environmentally friendly crackerjack box cars belonged. And Karofsky… surely that fool was selling fake Rolexes at a pawn shop in Toledo or sifting through the garbage cans by the railroad tracks or some equally esteemed job. What else would a hamhock like that end up doing—

Kurt winced as a flash of pain shot through his forehead.

_A hulking form approached. Was that a *woman* slung over his shoulder?_

_.  
_

"_Oh my God! Shit, that's Demolition Dave!"_

"_You gotta sign, like, a thousand jerseys for me!"_

_.  
_

Kurt gritted his teeth, rubbing at his forehead as the sudden images faded away. What the *hell* had that been?

"Mr. Hummel, are you okay? Mr. Hummel?"

Kurt glanced over at the nurse, still distracted by the pain in his temples. "Yeah… I'm okay. Just… I just… I don't know… I had a deja vu moment."

"Well, that's actually a good sign," the man said, smiling at him. "It may be a sign of your memory coming back. Often with short-term memory loss things will come back in patches."

"Are they always pain-filled, head splitting patches? Because I think I might actually prefer not remembering to feeling that again."

"I'll talk to the doctor about getting your some more medicine for the pain. Other than that, is there anything I can do—"

The nurse was cut off as a curtain was pushed aside and yet another scrub-adorned lackey entered his little area. "Mr. Hummel? You have a visitor. Do you feel up to seeing him?"

A tightness in Kurt's shoulders that he hadn't even realized was there disappeared as he gave a little sigh of relief. A visitor. He had a visitor which meant that, hopefully, he had someone to explain to him what the fuck was going on. "Yes, yes, please. Is it my father?"

The woman frowned. "Um, no, I don't believe this is your father. Would you like me to send him away?"

Kurt waved a hand carelessly. "No, no! Let them in, please." The woman nodded and ducked back out of the curtains. He would have loved to see his father, but anyone who could possibly give him the lowdown on his situation was more than welcome. Kurt had obviously gone to Texas for some reason. Maybe Finn had gone with him, or possibly Will, or—did he even dare to hope?—Blaine. The man had, after all, RSVP'd for the reunion.

"I'll be back in a little while," the nurse said as handed a small button to Kurt. "Just press this if you need anything, okay?"

Kurt nodded idly as the man made his way out. Press the button if he needed anything. Ha. What he needed was for someone to explain what the fuck was happening! "Hell, *anyone* would be fine at this point," Kurt muttered to himself as he reached for the little cup of water beside him, sipping at it. God, his throat was so dry...

The curtain pulled back and Kurt glanced up, eyes widening. Oh, God. This was... Oh, God, this was *insane*!

"Hey, Kurt, I-"

Kurt sat up abruptly, gritting his teeth against the pounding in his head as he glared at the enormous form standing before his bed, eyes flashing. Dave Karofsky, bully and asshole extraordinaire was in his fucking *hospital* room. When he'd said 'anyone' would do, he *hadn't* meant the person most likely to have put him into the hospital to begin with! That would teach him to be careful what he wished for. God, this explained so much. No wonder there was a horrible pounding in his head. Horrible poundings and Dave Karofsky just sory of went hand in hand.

"What the hell are *you* doing here, Karofsky?" The yelling just made his head pound more, but at this point Kurt didn't really give a fuck. He just wanted this bastard *away* from him!

Karofsky's eyes widened and he took a step back, looking a little shocked. "I…I... I just came to see you... Maybe... Maybe I should go..."

Kurt grabbed his forehead, bending over a little as it throbbed painfully, images flashing through his mind.

.

_A girl, blonde with *very* distinct breasts, glared at him and Kurt returned her glare fiercely. Karofsky shook his head and dropped his eyes, rubbing at his forehead. "Yeah, I… I should go. I shouldn't have… yeah." Karofsky stood, head down as he set a hand on the girl's shoulder. "C'mon, baby, let's go."_

_.  
_

"Kurt! Oh my God, are you okay?"

Kurt blinked rapidly, trying to clear his head, then visibly flinched as he felt one of Karofsky's big hands come down on his. "What the—don't touch me, asshole!" He jerked away as well as he could, one hand still gripping his pounding forehead.

Karofsky pulled back, a shocked look crossing his face. "I… I'm sorry. Maybe… maybe I should go. I just wanted to, you know… make sure you were okay…"

Kurt shook his head a little, though the movement didn't help the pain in the least. "Wait… did *you* attack me? Why the hell aren't you under arrest, Karofsky?"

"What? Attack you?" The other man's eyes were so wide he looked like Emma after she'd stepped in dog poop. "Of course not!" Karofsky's voice sounded pained. "Do you really think that I would *attack* you? God, Kurt, what you did was pretty fucked up but I would never hurt you!"

What *he* did was pretty fucked up? What was this bastard talking about? Karofsky was the one with a hard on for wronging people! Kurt sniffed and squared his shoulders as best he could, summoning all his energy to stare down the jerk. It might be difficult to look regally superior in a back tying gown, but to put this Neanderthal in his place he would manage. "I think you've hurt me plenty in the past, Karofsky! Though you always *were* pretty quick to blame *me*!"

"I… shit, Kurt…"

A wave of sickness rolled through Kurt's gut as Karofsky's face sort of collapsed, hurt flashing through his eyes. What the hell? Why should Karofsky looking like he'd just lost his left testicle bother Kurt in the least? If anything it should make him want to dance for joy. It was just about what the hamhock deserved. This was really just too weird.

"If you didn't hurt me, then who did?"

The hurt morphed suddenly into anger, something much more suited to Dave Karofsky than that wounded puppy face he'd been wearing. "Fucking Marcus attacked you. I swear to God, Kurt, when they find that bastard I am gonna beat the living shit out of him. Fluffers took more than a few bites out of his homophobic ass, and I think Snickers and Batman got a few in, too—"

"Who the hell is Marcus?" Kurt cut in, more than a little confused. "And Fluffers? Snickers? What the *hell* are you talking about?"

"Uh, my coach, Marcus? And Fluffers my pom, Snickerdoodle, my pit bull…" Dave trailed off, a strange look coming over his face. "Kurt… what *do* you remember?"

"I remember that you used to shove me into the lockers everyday," Kurt shot back snidely, scowling at the other man. "And that you have the brain of a caveman. Other than that? Not too much. Care to explain?"

Karofsky's eyes widened, mouth forming a little 'o.' "I… you mean… you don't remember why you're here?"

Kurt sniffed. "No, I don't. Though I am quite interested as to why *you* are here!"

Karofsky's mouth just moved silently for a moment then he shook his head abruptly, fists clenching at his sides. "No," he said, voice strained. "No, no, no. I… Oh, God, this is not happening. This cannot be happening... I cannot handle this. I should never have come."

Kurt frowned in confusion as the other man let out a choked laugh, palming his face.

"Hell, I shouldn't have just not come here, I should never have come near you to begin with! Then none of this shit would have happened."

Seriously, what the *hell* was going on? "I should only have been so lucky, Karofsky! But quit avoiding the question! Why are you here? Why am I here? And where the hell *is* here?"

Karofsky shook his head again, face reddening as he crossed his arms almost defensively across his chest. His very broad chest. His very broad, well muscled chest. His very broad, well muscled, highly attractive chest. Kurt blinked. Where the hell had that thought come from?

"You know what? I better leave before I discover I have a long lost twin or some shit. I should have known that this would end like a fucking soap opera. You are quite the drama queen after all." Another choked laugh. "So take a bow, Hummel, and I'll get gone. Obviously it was never fucking meant to be."

Anger flared in Kurt's chest and he scowled deeply at the man. "Why don't you cut the shit and just tell me what is going on? Where is my father? Why am I in Texas? And, most of all, why the hell are you acting like you even know me?"

.

"_You have a tramp stamp?"_

_Kurt started, eyes widening as he glanced over the shower divider and was graced with the sight of Dave Karofsky staring down at him, water dripping down that hard, muscular chest, around the curves of his pecs, the cut of his abs..._

_.  
_

Kurt grabbed his head, choking down a moan as it began to pound again. Oh dear Lord. What the fuck?

"I… I have to go." Karofsky took several blind steps backward, managing to send an IV rack tumbling to the ground as he half-walked, half-stumbled toward the curtains. "I just… I gotta go."

Kurt rubbed at his eyes, the image of Karofsky's wet body burned into his brain. What was going on? "Karofsky, wait—"

Too late. The man was already out of Kurt's little section of hospital hell, curtains swinging behind him. Damn he was fast.

Kurt leaned back with a sigh, kneading at his temples. When had his world turned into the fucking Twilight Zone? It was like he'd woken up in some alternate universe or something.

.

_Karofsky ducked his head, looking embarrassed as an overdressed waiter set a plate of nachos down next to the table's fancy place settings. It was amazing how cute he looked with those red cheeks, his big shoulders all hunched._

_.  
_

Kurt moaned aloud this time, grabbing at his head with both hands. What was going on? And where the hell were these fucking flashes coming from-Karofsky Land? God, wasn't there anything they could do to stop this pounding?

Kurt continued to rub at his forehead with one hand as he reached out and grabbed the call button, pushing it impatiently. They'd said if he needed anything, call. Well, what he needed now was about a thousand aspirin and an outfit that didn't lace in the back. Unless it was a corset, of course. And an explanation as to why a man he had barely given a thought to in years kept popping up in his mind every five minutes-not to mention in his hospital room-would be nice.

"Sir, are you alright?" the nurse questioned as he walked in, frowning at the toppled stand. "What happened?"

Kurt just shook his head. "Nothing. And no, I'm not particularly 'alright,'" he said flatly. "I just woke up in a hospital with no idea of how I got here. How 'alright' can you be? Not to mention that my head feels like it's stuck in a medieval torture device."

"Right," the nurse said, propping the IV stand back up. "I'll get you some pain killers. Is there anything else I can do?"

"Yeah, look, I need to call my dad. Do you know what happened to my phone?"

The nurse nodded. "Oh, yeah, we have all your belongings right here." He moved over to a small cabinet, pulling out a plastic container. "Your clothes were somewhat bloodied, I am afraid, but we will have them for you when you check out if you want to try and salvage them."

Somewhat bloodied. Fabulous. Hopefully he hadn't been wearing any Prada. At least he knew his underwear had been nice. Wouldn't want the paramedics to think him any less than classy. "Thanks," Kurt said as he took the container, shuffling through the seven different lipsticks and pulling out his phone. "I really appreciate it." Now maybe he could figure out what the hell was going on.

Kurt turned on the phone then blinked as a message popped onto the screen. I had 147 voicemails? What the hell? He shook his head and hit the first message.

"_You fucking slut faggot I can't believe what you did you nasty bitch whore. You turned him, didn't you? Who the fuck do you think you—"_

Kurt clicked the delete button, eyes wide. What the hell had that been?

"_I gonna kill you, queer, for giving our boy the gay—"_

Next message.

"_Faggots die—"_

Next message.

"_Good for you, girl, landing that man! Wish I had a stud like that in MY bed!"_

What the fuck? Next message.

"_Fucking queers are taking over the world—"_

On and on they went, message after message, one cruel word after another. By the time he'd come to the thirty-some-odd message, Kurt was blinking back tears. What the hell was going on? What had happened? Why were all these people attacking him?

"_Kurt?" _ Oh, thank God, a familiar voice. Kurt sniffed and swallowed deeply as his father's obviously worried voice came over the line, _ "Please call me! We are so worried about you! I saw… well, you know what I saw… on ESPN! It's all over the Internet, too! What is going on? Please call me!"_

ESPN? What would his father have seen on ESPN, of all places? And the Internet? Had a video of his attack gone viral or something? Kurt swallowed down the sick feeling rising in his gut as he opened up his Facebook ap. If there was one good place to find viral vids, it was Facebook.

635 Notifications? The nurse had said they'd brought him in an hour ago. How in the world had he ended up with 635 Notifications? Kurt sniffed again, rubbing at his suddenly damp cheeks as he scanned his Newsfeed. And he'd thought the shit in voicemail had been hateful. Why was this happening? Why were people attacking him like this?

He clicked over to his own page, staring in disbelief at the top entry.

**Kurt Hummel-Hudson:** Want to see the REAL Dave Karofsky? He's bringing a whole new meaning to tight end! Check it out on YouTube.

There were over three hundred comments on the entry. And none of them were nice.

Kurt took a deep breath and clicked the link, eyes widening as his face appeared on screen, followed by the sight of a barely-clothed Karofsky grinning like an idiot.

"_Oh, come on, just say it! It's not that hard! Just say 'I'm gay!' Come on, David! Just admit who you *are* for once!"_

Karofsky rolled his eyes. _ "Why do I need to say it? You just fucked me up the butt, man. I think that's a pretty good acknowledgement of my sexuality!"_

Kurt shook his head, flashing a grin at the camera. _"Uh uh. You need to stop being so scared of who you are! Just say it! It will feel good, I promise!"_

Kurt choked slightly as another broken image rushed suddenly through his head, this time of Karofsky's body intertwined with his, strong arms wrapped around Kurt as the man laid gentle kisses along the curve of his neck...

Oh, God. What had he *done*?

A tear ran down his cheek. Somehow he didn't think any amount of morphine was going to help *this* pain.


	20. Ch 20: Game Change

**FYI**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

sparklybat[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

******Author's Notes:** Okay, not my BEST chapter, but better than nothing and the end of this fic IS in sight! :)

.

**Chapter 20: Game Change  
**

The smell of sweat mingled with the silence in a way that shouldn't have registered on any olfactory systems, leaving the heavy taste of disgust and disapproval on the air. Okay, it was probably just imagined but from the look that had been on Jerry Jones' face ten minutes earlier, Dave wasn't the only one whose nose was making up rather nasty scents. There was failure in the air and, unlike Jerry Jones' love life, this wasn't something that could be fixed with a whiff of Viagra.

Not to mention that the locker room, though full to the brim with testosterone-laden men, was practically echoing with silence—yet another impossible turn of phrase that somehow managed to fit perfectly. God, it was like he was marching down the hall to his own execution, a line of stinky, half-dressed jocks staring at him, wordless, as he made his way to his locker, jaw clenched tightly. He might as well get used to it—somehow he didn't think the torment was going to lighten up anytime soon.

The silence was painful, but what the hell was he supposed to say? 'Hey, guess what? I fuck dudes! Surprise!' Ha. Anything was better than that. Even the silent echo of smelly failure.

Dave came to a halt before his locker, clenching his fists as he took in the crudely drawn rainbow that had been scribbled across the metal in bright colors. Fucking assholes.

A few dark chuckles broke the silence and Dave just lowered his head further, knowing that if he met the bastards' eyes he'd probably end up losing it. He was on tenuous enough ground as it was without putting half a dozen of his teammates in traction.

Better to just ignore it all. That's what Kurt had done, back in highschool. If the whiny little princess could be the better man before his balls had even finished dropping then that was the least Dave could do. They were all adults, after all. Even if they were giggling like 7th graders with a juicy bit of gossip.

Dave reached out and tugged open his locker, letting out a yelp as a sudden rush of glitter exploded outward, dancing down onto his head in a whirl of sparkles.

A roar of laughter filled the room as Dave's cheeks burned red and he slammed the locker door shut hard enough to make the whole wall of metal shake. Fuck remaining calm. Who knew how Hummel had pulled it off? These bastards deserved what they had coming.

"Hey, Karofsky! Got yourself some fairy dust?"

Dave lurched toward the man, shoving him hard into the wall behind him even as the locker room continued to laugh their asses off. He'd make this asshole sorry he had messed with Demolition Dave. "Fuck you, James! I'll show you what it feels like when a fairy breaks your face!"

"Hey! Hey! What the HELL is going on here?" Dave looked up sharply as Tony Romo entered the room, looking around at the group gathered around, eyes falling furiously on the glittering evidence of their little joke. "Karofsky? James? What the fuck?" He stuck an arm between the two men, scowling as he pushed them apart.

Dave made a savage sound as he backed away, raking at his arms in a futile attempt to dislodge the sparkles. Fuck, where the hell had they gotten that much glitter? There had to have been a gallon of the shit in there! Assholes.

Tony stared, looking shocked, then shook his head rapidly as the men around him continued to laugh. "You think this is funny?" he shouted, shoving at random guys. "This is your fucking teammate, you losers!" His eyes narrowed on James, who was still smirking crudely at Dave. "Were you behind this?"

The man's mouth dropped open as he gently put a hand to his chest, eyes wide with amused disbelief. "Aw, Tony, would *I* do that?"

"Yes," Miles said flatly, pushing his way through the group of gawking football players. "Yeah, you would. And it's not cool. Tony's right! He's our teammate!"

"He's a faggot and a troublemaker," one of the linemen broke in, actually spitting on the ground. Dave's eyes narrowed hatefully at him. "What the hell are we supposed to do now that Marcus is in lock up? We're down a coach all because Karofsky's dick was busy looking for manlier pastures!"

"Marcus is in jail because he attacked an unarmed man for no good reason—"

"I think it was a pretty good damn reason," one of the guys cut in, sneering as Dave glowered at him. "Making Demo a queer."

"No one made me a fucking queer!" Dave snapped, smacking a hand against the wall of lockers. "I've always been a queer, okay? Always! And maybe I'm just sick of fucking hiding it!" He shoved a finger in the smart mouthed bastard's face. "I took you to a fucking Superbowl before and I can do it again. It has nothing to do with who I sleep with!"

"That's right," Tony snapped, looking a little uncomfortable. "So all of you get your asses the hell on the field before I beat the shit out of all of you!" He waved an arm in the air. "Well? Get gone! Now!"

There was a collective groan as the guys began to move out, grumbling as they headed in the general direction of the field.

Dave took a deep breath, gritting his teeth as he tried to wipe the glitter from, well, everywhere. "Thanks, Tony," he muttered, yanking off his muscle tee to shake it out. "I appreciate you standing up for me."

Tony took a deep breath and Dave looked up sharply, eyes narrowing at the look on the quarterback's face. "Or were you just waiting until we were in private to tell me what a fucking queer I am?"

"Dave," Tony said, voice sounding a little desperate as he reached out to the other man, frowning when Dave moved pointedly away. "It's not like that… I mean… Demo, you know you're my friend and my teammate, and nothing is going to change that." He sighed. "But… I just think you should know that there's already been, well, some *talk.*"

Dave licked his lips nervously as he took a steadying breath. It wasn't like this news was any big surprise. "What… what kind of talk?"

Tony gave a shrug. "You know… just how this has gotten out of control and how if you can't get it back under wraps… well, that you may not be worth the investment next season."

Dave yanked a clean shirt over his head, not caring that there was still glitter decorating his chest hair. "I'm one of your best players!"

"I know that and you know that—but all the owners give a rip about is how big their dollar grows. And the whole thing with the guy… you know that's not good football biz, bro."

Dave let out a short laugh. "No shit? But what the fuck do they expect me to do? It's over and done with. Are they really gonna let my sexual orientation decide whether or not I fucking play?"

Tony shrugged. "I dunno, bro. But you handled it before. I mean, most of us knew that you and Katie weren't really… y'know. But we wouldn't have stuck… that word… on you, either."

"The word being 'gay'?" Dave asked, voice a little dull.

Tony shifted from foot to foot, the essence of uncomfortable. "Yeah. I mean, you kept it under wraps before. Surely there's something you could do to push it back under."

Dave let out a laugh, leaning heavily against the lockers, feeling sick to his stomach. "Did you ever think that maybe I'm fucking sick of hiding it?" he asked tiredly. "That maybe, just maybe, I'd like to be able to have an actual relationship? With someone I have *chemistry* with?"

Tony cleared his throat, obviously not interested in any elaboration regarding Dave's 'chemistry'. "I know, D… But this is football. And that's… well, it's gay. And I'm not sure they'll let you be both. The fans, I mean. And the owners. I mean, *I* understand—"

"Do you?" Dave snapped, crossing his arms to glare at the other man. "Because it seems like you're pretty fucking freaked out too, Tony. It's not a goddamn disease! It's just what I am!"

Tony shook his head, looking tired. "I know, I know, okay. I… I'm just saying. For you to think about it." He gave him a half-hearted smile. "I'll see you on the field, okay? You, uh, might want to try and shower that glitter off."

"Well?" Kurt said as he did a little red-carpet spin, one hand jauntily on his hip, his nose in the air. "Better than a paper gown, yes?"

"Yeah, you can barely see your black eye," Finn replied, his smile too bright.

Kurt sighed. "Thanks for reminding me." He sat down on the hospital bed with a sigh. "I still cannot believe you all came down here just for me."

"Well, Karofsky paid for the tickets, so why not?" Puck said as he admired himself in the reflection of some sort of hospital instrument.

Kurt's jaw tightened and he stood abruptly, all the tension he'd spent the last twenty-four hours slowly expelling back in a sudden wash. "Could we not talk about David, please?" he said sharply as he gathered up his things, stuffing them into the overnight bag Finn had brought him.

"Yeah, Finn, remember?" Brittany said, flashing a cutely stupid smile. "We're not supposed to mention the whole sex video scandal thing!" She leaned in toward Kurt as if telling a secret, her voice comically low. "Did you know someone put a sex video out about Dave?"

Santana winced, grabbing at the girl and tugging her away. "Ah, Brittany, I don't think Kurt is interested. Why don't you tell us what Lord Tubbington got you for your birthday?"

Kurt rolled his eyes. "Look, there's no point in avoiding the issue, especially since I can tell that every one of you wants to talk about it. It was a mistake, all right? I wasn't thinking."

Finn frowned. "So you put it on the Net on accident? Aw, that really sucks!"

"I don't think he means *that* kind of mistake, Finn," Rachel said in her patented Know It All voice. "Kurt gave into his inner diva and now he regrets it. Kind of like when Britney Spears shaved her head."

Kurt's nose wrinkled in distaste. "Except I would never knowingly bald myself."

"No, you'd just cut off your lover's balls," Santana said, a little too sweetly, wiggling her fingers when Kurt glared at her. "Hey, I think it was hilarious! Totally what I would have done. Well, I would have blackmailed him first and *then* released the video, but not everyone can be as evil as me."

"You blackmailed me plenty without a sex tape. I don't even want to imagine what you would have done with that kind of ammo, Satan-a."

Kurt started slightly at the sound of Dave's voice, his eyes widening as the enormous man appeared in the doorway, a sad sort of smile on his face as he waved at Kurt, shrugging his shoulders when Kurt just stared at him in disbelief.

"D-Dave," Kurt said, eyes wide. "I… I didn't actually expect you to come see me…"

Dave laughed, shaking his head a little. "Yeah, well, I guess I just can't stay away." He held up a bag, that sad smile still painted across his face and Kurt felt his stomach drop a little.

"I, ah, just wanted to give you this stuff. I've had it way too long. It's… kind of weird, I know." He reached into the bag, pulling out a small plastic figurine, his thick fingers caressing it almost lovingly. Kurt swallowed hard as his eyes fell on it. It was the wedding topper, from high school. The one Dave had taken from him in a fit of psychoticness. He had kept it all these years?

"I mean, why do I even have all this crap?" He chuckled. "The truth is, you affected way more people than you ever knew, Kurt. And *that's* why I kept it. As a reminder. But... I... I guess I just felt like you should have all your stuff back." He shook his head, looking a little disconcerted. "I... I just can't keep it anymore. But I can't throw it away, either."

Kurt blinked, reaching out slowly to take the bag, thoughts whirling as he sifted through it. His senior picture, with the word 'COURAGE' written across it. The wedding topper Dave had taken from him junior year. A sequined scarf he had thought he'd lost. A burned CD with 'KURT/GLEE CLUB-BORN THS WAY' written on it. The plastic scepter Dave had won at Junior Prom. A newspaper clipping from the Lima Times about Kurt taking over the drama department at McKinley.

"Dave," he said quietly, looking up at the other man with wide eyes. "You're right… this is kind of weird." He blinked back the tears that were suddenly welling up in his eyes. "Weird… but really sweet. You kept all this stuff?"

Dave shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable as he ran a hand through his hair. "Kurt… I just wanted to let you know that I'm really not mad. And I am so sorry about what happened to you. I swear, everybody who has contact with me gets fucked up somehow." He shook his head. "I'm just sorry, Kurt. Really sorry." He gave him a sad smile and Kurt made a choked sound as the bigger man took a step back, turning slowly away, leaving Kurt to stare after him.

The door shut lightly behind him and Santana hopped up suddenly, looking at Kurt in disbelief. "Oh, please, you are so not gonna let that go, are you?" Santana said shortly, making Kurt jump as she snapped her fingers in his face. "Because if so, that is just sad! What is wrong with you, princess?"

"She's got a point," Rachel put in helpfully, flashing a smile at Kurt. "He obviously adores you and the best relationships start as fannish obsessions! That's how you become a star!"

Kurt collapsed back onto the little hospital bed, staring blankly at the bag in his lap. "What am I supposed to do? I don't think I have any right to stop him! After what I did?"

Santana snorted loudly, waving the thought away. "Oh please! Have you seen your own ass in a mirror lately? As if that big lug won't forgive you in a heartbeat! But I suggest you hurry, lady-looks, before it really becomes too late."

"He deserves better than—"

"Oh will you shut up? You know, I'm no genius but even I'm not that stupid!" Finn said suddenly, shaking his head. "Santana's right. He obviously digs you and you obviously dig him, so what's with the angst fest anyway? Why does everybody have to make stuff so *complicated*?"

Kurt frowned deeply. "Finn, you have to understand the—"

"I understand, Kurt! Okay? It's not rocket science! You like him. He likes you. You both acted like dumbasses. Now go make up!" He reached out, squeezing Kurt's shoulder. "It's never too late to say sorry."

Santana flashed him another smile. "Especially not when you have that ass."


	21. Ch 21: The Final Score

**FYI**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

pucktheperv[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

******Author's Notes:** This is the final chapter of Homefield Advantage! There will be an epilogue (I have it written, I just need to rewrite it so expect it sometime early this week) but, after that, it is finis! And it only took about a year, LOL!)

.

**Chapter 21: The Final Score  
**

.

Dave took a deep breath, hands clenched a little too hard on the steering wheel as he stared dully out the window at the hospital building, doing his best to shove down the waves of emotion that kept crashing over him. It was over. All over. Finished. Done. The game was over and he had definitely lost.

Oh who was he kidding—it had been a loss from the start, like playing football with a 10 man team. He'd never truly had a chance at Kurt. Maybe he'd been fooled for a second there, thinking maybe, just maybe, they could make it work if he played hard enough and overcame the odds. But the score was against him, and there was no denying that.

Hell, maybe the loss was really a win. After all, nothing good had really come of the few plays he'd made. After all, Kurt had almost been killed because of his association to Dave. Kurt would be better off playing on someone else's team. Dave knew that. Better to forfeit the game, cut all ties completely, than risk Kurt taking a tackle that was never meant for him. Right? His little trip to the hospital had just been a way to express that, making it crystal clear that Dave understood they were over and done with, if they's ever begun at all. Taking all of the little guilty-pleasure trinkets Dave had collected over the years had just been an appropriately dramatic way to do. Only fitting for a queen like Kurt.

Dave let out a little laugh. What a bunch of bullshit.

He could pretend all he wanted, but his real motivations had been a hell of a lot more selfish than that. It scared the shit out of him that Kurt could have been killed because of their relationship, but if that was all he was worried about he could have just walked away from the game. There had been no need for him to show up at the hospital looking like he spent his days shopping at Stalkers R Us. That had been all for himself.

Dave's shoulders tensed as he remembered Kurt's face yesterday when he'd walked into that hospital room, head buzzing with high hopes fed by Azimio's overly romantic sap. Forget being jumped in the dark—just that *look* had almost killed Dave. The fear, the hate, the anger… it was like Dave had stepped back in time seven years and he was in those fucking halls again, angry and afraid and alone, the only outlet for it all a skinny little gay boy who was everything Dave wished he could be. And he just couldn't deal with it right now. Hell, he hadn't been able to deal with it *before*. There was a reason that the hastily scrawled note he'd left sitting on the floor next to him the day he'd done his best to meet his maker had closed with 'p.s. tell hummel I'm sorry. for everything i did to him.'

Dave couldn't go back to that place. He couldn't bear Kurt's hatred again. It was time to call it a day and let it all go. But every single one of those little trinkets had been another nail on his coffin. Dave knew that, deep down, he must have always held onto some hope that he could at least make amends with Kurt someday, and every scarf, tape, and picture had represented that. Now they were just a reminder that, no matter what he did, Dave would never be good enough for the man who, at sixteen years old, could walk through the halls in a shirt that said 'Likes Boys.'

God, Dave wished he could be that brave. But no, he was just a fucking coward, no different than in high school. Okay, maybe he didn't bully the shit out of people anymore, but he wasn't exactly the dudes from the Ambiguously Gay Duo, either, and he never would be. Hell, out of the hundreds of articles about that damn video, the one that had bothered him most was from 'The Advocate,' with all their happy prattling about *finally* being represented in professional sports.

Ha. They only wished. Dave was no gay superstar. He wasn't going to jump on a pride float and shout to the world. No, he was going to climb right back into his closet like a good boy. But what the hell? His closet, at least, was familiar. He'd spent the last seven years safely tucked away there. It hadn't been until Kurt Hummel showed up and yanked him out that he'd even really considered peeking out the door. Of course, it hadn't been until Kurt Hummel showed up and yanked him out that he'd really felt like he was living at all. Then to have it all torn away in an instant…

Dave could have dealt with the hate, as long as he still had Kurt. But to have Kurt look at him like that… He couldn't do it. It was like being back at school, only this time there was no Azimio to catch him if he fell. His teammates would *not* be so forgiving. Losing Kurt was bad enough. Like his heart had been ripped out. Dave was seriously injured as it was and he was pretty sure that losing everyone else, too, would sideline him for life.

Dave swallowed hard, rubbing at his eyes. Why the fuck was he tearing up? It was over and done with. Time to get on with his life. His life of hiding. His life of lies. His life without Kurt.

Dammit, he could really use a fucking hamburger or five.

Dave sniffed again, silently berating himself for being such a pussy, then turned the key in the ignition, his truck's engine cracking to life. It was time to get gone. Time to forget about Kurt and focus on piecing his pitiful life back together. Seriously, he'd heard that high school reunions could be kind of traumatic, but this was absurd. He'd had a better time when Sue had sent them to that slaughterhouse.

At least it was over. Dave was *definitely* not attending any more reunions, so he would probably never even see Kurt again—

"DAVE! Dave, wait!"

Dave froze, shoulders tensing as he looked up to see Kurt prancing across the parking lot at a fairly good pace for someone with that many bandages wrapped around his head. Okay, Kurt probably thought he was running, but it looked like prancing to Dave. Normal people just didn't lift their legs that high when they ran. It was annoyingly cute.

Damn Kurt Hummel and his unnatural ability to be cute even when covered in band-aids and bruises.

Dave gritted his teeth. He should just take off. It was over. He'd made his decision. He'd taken back all that shit so he *wouldn't* have to think about Kurt anymore, not so that Kurt could chase him down in the damn parking lot and spread his girly gayish cooties all over Dave's very manly and straight-looking pickup.

But that prancing/running thing was just too adorable for him to leave the other man in the dust. Damn him and his strange fascination with Kurt Hummel!

Kurt was panting by the time he made it to Dave's truck, practically collapsing against the side.

"Dave, wait. I want to talk to you." He yanked at the passenger side door handle, getting an annoyed look on his face when it refused to open. "Dave, please, I want to talk!"

Dave sighed, knowing he was going to regret this, and hit the button to unlock the door. Unfortunately Kurt had just pulled on it as hard as he could and he stumbled back as it flew open. He scowled, glaring at the door like it had attacked him.

Damn that man was cute when he scowled.

"Well?" Dave said tiredly when Kurt just continued to glare angrily at the door. "You gonna get in or you gonna stand there all day?"

Kurt jerked, almost like he'd forgotten Dave was there, then climbed up into the truck, slamming the door behind him as he settled in at an angle, pulling one knee up under him on the seat so that he could look Dave in the eye.

Dave just took a deep breath, pointedly *not* meeting those blue eyes, his stomach twisted in knots. This was not what he had wanted.

What was Fancy even here to talk about? How creepy Dave was for having those things? What a loser he was? It wouldn't surprise him. Kurt was many things, but humble was not one of them. And he obviously didn't think much of Dave if he'd really woken up in that hospital thinking *he* had been the one to attack him. He should really shove the smaller man out of the car and head home. They'd probably both be better off that way.

Tired of the awkward silence, Dave finally spoke. "What do you *want*, Kurt?" He tried his best to keep his voice level and steady, despite the racing of his heart. He wasn't sure he could take any more hate from Kurt. God, he hadn't felt this defenseless since the game last season where they'd left him wide open and he'd been tackled by four guys.

Kurt just stared at him for a moment, chewing on his lower lip for a moment, before he spoke, voice quiet and a little strained. "Dave… Dave, I…" He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, almost like he was getting ready for a brawl. "I am *not* going to let it end like this."

What? Now Fancy *didn't* want it to end? God, this little diva changed his mind faster than Mack Brown changed quarterbacks. Dave let out a sad laugh, heart aching. "I'm sorry, Kurt, but I need to go now, okay?"

Kurt's face fell for an instant, then he steeled himself again, reaching out and grabbing at the shoulder of Dave's t-shirt like he was afraid the other might make good on his words by leaping out of the truck or something. "Dave, please. Please listen to me." His voice was a little desperate as he reached out and grabbed the front of Dave's shirt with his other hand, gripping it tight in his fingers as he tugged Dave toward him. Dave yielded, moving just enough in his seat that they were mostly facing each other, though he kept his head turned to the side, staring out the windshield. He didn't want to look at Kurt right then. It hurt too much.

"You know I'm not the begging type, David. I find it common and most certainly unfashionable. But I'm willing to beg right now. I love you. And, just as importantly, I can *admit* that I love you." His voice cracked a little. "I can admit that I love you in the same way that I love my dad and Carole and Finn… In the same way that I loved my *mom.* And that is not something that comes easily. Please, please… Just look at me, David."

Dave swallowed hard and turned to face the other man, wishing immediately that he hadn't. How could anyone deny those big, blue eyes anything?

No, he needed to be strong. He had made his decision. This was ending now. Kurt was too dangerous. He might think he wanted Dave then, but he'd change his mind again soon enough. And Dave couldn't deal with it. It hurt too much. It was time to accept that men like Dave would never be good enough for men like Kurt. It was a whole 'nother ball game.

"Kurt," Dave said, his voice barely above a whisper, "it's not that simple. I… I love you too, okay? I just… My whole damn life is in ruins, Kurt!" He sniffed and Kurt made a sad sound.

"Dave, I am so sorry about that. You have no idea how sorry I—"

Dave held up a hand, words sounding hoarse. "I told you, I don't blame you, Kurt. I mean, I'm obviously not happy about that fucking video. Talk about seriously fucking up a man's life. But this was going to happen, eventually. I knew that, someday, it would come out." He laughed, and not happily. "I'd kind of hoped it would be after I'd retired from football, though. The next few months are going to be real tough, Kurt. You've already been hurt because of it. And maybe you don't care about that, maybe you're willing to risk all the shit that could happen in the future for 'love'. Okay, that's fair—it would be your decision. But the fact is that you're not the only one I gotta protect. I gotta protect myself."

Kurt's brow furrowed, a deep frown coming over his face. "Dave, I told you, I am so sorry for what I did! I realize that it's not something you can forgive and forget, but—"

"That's not what I'm talking about," Dave cut in. He rubbed tiredly at his eyes, trying to hide the fact that he was fighting back tears. "When I saw you yesterday, and you looked at me like I was nothing but that stupid, selfish boy who bullied you back in high school… Shit, Kurt, that hurt a thousand times more than any crap I've gotten over that video." A tear escaped, running down his cheek. One more battle lost. "I am so stressed right now. I feel like I'm stuck between two worlds, and that no matter what I do, they're both gonna hate me." His voice broke. "My fans will never look at me the same again if I come out."

"But I'll be there, Dave!" Kurt protested, sounding desperate. "We'll get through it *together.*"

Dave chuckled sadly. "You say that now, but what if I mess up with you and you start looking at me like that again? I'm not exactly the kind of guy you'd expect to be with Kurt Hummel. You know that. Hell, you thought *I* was the one who attacked you!"

"Dave, I couldn't remember! My memory hadn't come back yet!"

Dave shook his head. "It doesn't matter. Obviously deep down you still think that's the kind of person I am. But, like I said, I'm caught between two worlds, because I'm just as screwed the other way, dammit! If I stay in the closet, my teammates will be okay, the fans will deal with it, but I'll be back to living a sad, lonely life." He swallowed hard. "Kurt… You just don't understand what it's like, to be trapped like this. I know you think you do, but you don't. I'm not trying to use it as an excuse for anything I did to you in the past, but… not every gay guy has it as easy as you did. I had made myself a life, though, done the best I could. But then you came along and now that draining fear I felt every day all through high school is back. It's a terrible fear, Kurt. A fear of losing your family, your friends, even yourself. The truth? God, Kurt… I haven't felt this bad since I was seventeen. And you know how I dealt with it then? I wrapped a belt around my neck, hung it in a closet, and knocked down the chair I was standing on." Another tear ran down his cheek. "I can't deal with feeling like that anymore, Kurt. I need to get back to my life, pitiful as it may seem to you."

Kurt reached out to wipe away Dave's tear, looking hurt when he turned his head away.

"Dave… I can't even imagine what that feels like. You're right. I didn't want to admit it as a teenager—I knew everything, after all, and everyone else was an idiot. You *are* right, though. I did have it easy. But please, don't let people's idiotic small mindedness dictate your life! I can understand that it's hard to trust me right now. But I swear, if you give me another chance I will never, ever let you down again! I love you Dave!" He gave a choked sob, and Dave's gut wrenched as tears started to run down those pale, pretty cheeks.

God, he wanted so badly to just say okay and pull Kurt into his arms. But doing that might very well shatter the pieces of his already broken life completely beyond repair. He couldn't take the risk. Not now, when everything was collapsing around him.

"I-I'm sorry, Kurt," he said. "I-I'm just not you. I'm not brave like you. I… I feel safer in my closet."

"Really? Isn't that exactly the place you tried to kill yourself?" Kurt's voice was clipped, and a little angry, his voice making Kurt flinch.

An ashamed look immediately came across Kurt's face as Dave started to pull away. "Oh, God, I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry, David. I do understand how you're feeling. I just wish you'd give it a chance."

Dave shook his head, feeling a little sick to his stomach. "I… not right now, Kurt, I'm sorry."

Another tear ran down Kurt's cheek. Amazing how everything that happened between them seemed to end in tears.

"Please," Kurt said, his voice desperate. "Just… just think about it?"

Dave sniffed, shaking his head. "Kurt I—"

"Please," Kurt said again as he reached into his pocket, pulling something out. Dave's breath caught as the other man gently settled the wedding topper Dave had taken from him all those years ago on the seat between them. "Please, Dave, just think about it. Think about it…" He brushed a finger gently across the groom's face. "And maybe someday that could be us?"

Without warning Kurt leaned forward, pressing him lips against Dave's. Dave almost moaned at the sudden softness on his mouth, another tear running down his face at the realization that he would probably never feel this again.

Kurt pulled away much too soon, using the back of his hand to wipe more tears from his face as he smiled sadly at Dave. "I love you, David," he said softly as he reached for the door, more tears running down his cheeks as he looked down at the wedding topper. "Please think about it. Think about it because I *want* that to be us."

The door shut softly behind him and Dave let out a sob as he reached out and wrapped his hand around the little couple. "God, Kurt," he said to no one, swallowing down the lump in his throat. "I wish I was brave enough for this to be us."

o o o

Kurt stared sourly at the television, trying to ignore the bulbous, belching assholes pressing in around him. This was *so* not what he wanted to be doing on a Sunday night. Or any night. But, in a fit of insanity, he had agreed to go out with Finn for a few drinks. He couldn't stand another moment with the girls at the hotel—there were only so many times you could paint a person's toenails and if he ate one more spoonful of Cookies N Cream ice cream he wasn't going to be able to fit in his pants anymore. Their sympathy had been nice at first, but after 48 straight hours it had gotten old.

Of course, what he hadn't realized was that Finn's idea of 'getting a drink' included Puck, Sam, Mike, and Artie. Mix in one loud, cramped sports bar and he was in queer queen hell.

The whole place was in some kind of uproar, though the only thing on the TV was a couple of men in bland suits babbling something about lines of sriddish or scribbish or something. Kurt wasn't quite sure what it was. Maybe a new form of cocaine? He sighed as he stirred his cocktail, pretending that he was actually interested in the Neanderthal language pouring out their mouths. Really he was just watching for the occasional clip of Dave, or 'Demo,' as they liked to call him. Mostly all he could see was that big back crouching down, sporting the number '42' and 'KAROFSKY' in white letters. But every once and a while they'd show a clip of him, helmet off, black smudges under his eyes and sweat running down his face, those expressive eyebrows knit in concentration. Big and sweaty and fierce. It was all very masculine, like Testosterone City. And, if he was honest with himself, it also kind of hot.

"We're gonna cook those Seachickens up for dinner," Puck said, a vicious grin on his face as he tilted his beer back and chugged, then slammed the bottle back onto the bar. "We'll tar and feather them!"

The Seachickens? The other team was called the *Seachickens*? What was their mascot, a tuna fish? Kurt sniffed prissily. "Chickens have feathers, Puck. Why would you tar and re-feather them?"

Finn frowned, looking confused. Not an unusual look for Finn. "Who's a chicken? I'm not a chicken!"

Puck shrugged and took another swig of beer. "I dunno. It's Kurt. Probably a Vogue reference or something. You know he likes those feathers."

Kurt sighed in annoyance, tired of these lugs treating him like he was an outsider. He could be one of the boys, too! He liked boys, after all. "You just said that you wanted to tar and feather the Seachickens, Puckerman. I was making a joke. Sort of."

Sam leaned against the counter, grabbing a couple of mugs from the bartender and holding one out to Artie, who was using one of the barstools like his own private little table. That was how they'd gotten seats in the packed bar to begin with. Having a handicapped person could be handy sometimes. "Who're the Seachickens?"

Artie laughed. "Guys, I think he means the Seahawks."

Kurt sighed, rubbing at his forehead. "You know what? I'm sorry I said anything at all."

"But they're total Seachickens, too!" Puck said, sticking his hands in his arm pits and making clucking noises as he began to do the Chicken Dance. Kurt rolled his eyes as all the guys burst into laughter. What were they, twelve?

"ARE YOU READY FOR SOME FOOTBALL?"

Kurt jumped, almost spilling his drink as the sound on every TV in the bar went way, way up and a deep, pounding beat began to play.

He gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to cover his ears as everyone in the bar expressed their drunken approval with shouts, yells, whistles and stomps. Lots and *lots* of stomps. Hell, there was so much pounding that Kurt wouldn't have been surprised if it registered on the Richter scale.

"Everyone give a cheer for the home team, the DALLAS COWBOOOOOYS!"

This time Kurt *did* cover his ears, then had to grab for a stack of napkins as the fists pounding against the bar made his drink tip. Dammit! God, this was insane! And it didn't stop there as the mass of football fans pressed in, crowding the bar.

"We're gonna pound 'em," some guy with his face painted blue shouted just before he tipped over, hitting the floor with a thump. Kurt grimaced. He looked like a drunk Jake Sully.

"We'll make those 'hawks wanna fly home!"

Kurt wouldn't mind flying home right them.

"The losers won't be *able* to fly home—Demolition will break their fucking bird bones!"

"They don't stand a chance. Their quarterback's a fuckwit!"

"Kill those bastards!"

Dear Lord, these people were nuts! It was like two drag queens fighting over a Versace bag!

Kurt sighed, doing his best to ignore the shouting as he continued to mop up the mess before him. It was like being at a fucking cockfight.

"Oh my… what the FUCK is that?" Okay, that was not a yell of victory. Kurt glanced over, frowning at the shocked look on the bartender's face.

"What the hell?" The avatar-wannabe had managed to climb off the floor and was staring at the TV with wide eyes.

"You gotta be kidding me!"

Kurt frowned, looking up at the TV as more and more faces went from excited to shocked in an instant. What was going on?

"Did he just?"

"What the hell?"

"Oh my God…"

The rabble of voices was so loud that, despite being turned up so high they seemed to be shaking in their stands, Kurt couldn't hear a word coming out of the TVs. Seriously, *what* was going?

"SHUT UP!" the bartender finally yelled, somehow managing to turn the volume on the TVs even higher, the announcers' voices seeming to thunder through the room.

"I really can't believe it. It looks like Karofsky is wearing… Wow. I don't think that falls under team colors, Bill!"

Kurt sat up straight at the sound of Dave's name. What had happened? What were they talking about? Was Dave okay?

The other announcer let out a short laugh. "You're very right, Tom! Karofsky's going to get a couple of fines dropped on him for that one. Major uniform violations there."

Mercifully the screen switched from the announcers back to the field, where a bunch of players were milling around, the camera zooming in on the center of the field where a group of referees and men in navy jackets with 'Coach' on the back were gathered, gesturing angrily at one another. And, at the center of it all stood Dave, looking just as huge and sweaty as ever, practically reeking of testosterone as he stood there dressed in full pads and…

Kurt sucked in a sharp breath, eyes widening, wondering briefly if someone had slipped some hallucinogens in his cocktail. But no, everyone else in the bar looked equally shocked as they all stared in disbelief at the screen. Dave was really, truly standing in the middle of a football field with his pants tucked into a pair of rainbow socks.

Red and yellow, orange and purple, pink and blue all wrapped around his lower legs in small bands, bright and impossible to miss.

"I really can't believe this, Bill. With the latest scandal, Karofsky was already on shaky ground with the team. He might just find himself on the outs after this."

"I think the chances of his being re-signed to the Cowboys next season definitely went way down, Tom. That's for sure."

The camera zoomed in on Dave's face and Kurt's stomach fluttered nervously as he saw the tight look on Dave's face. The man did his trademark little flick of the tongue as he wiped the sweat off his brow with the back of his big hand. His face was relatively blank, but Kurt could tell just from the tension in those wide shoulders that he was probably about ready to puke.

The image suddenly switched to a replay of the Cowboys running out onto the field, Karofsky coming out late then putting on the speed, quickly catching up to the rest of the team. There was a rather humorous moment when one of the players looked over and, eyes widening, tripped over his own feet and tumbled to the ground. Then it was back to live action.

Kurt leaned forward, brow furrowing as Dave walked off the field with his head held high. The camera zoomed in on him as he tossed something up into the air, caught it lightly, then tossed it up again.

Oh, dear God, was that really…? Kurt was pretty sure his heart had missed a beat.

"What's that he's got in his hand, Tom?"

"I'm not sure… It kind of looks like those little figures of a couple getting married. Hey, my wife and I had one of those at our wedding."

"And which wedding was this, Tom? The third or the fourth?" They both burst into laughter and Kurt gritted his teeth, smacking the bar in annoyance. Put the damn camera back on Dave already! Who the hell cared what these balding losers had to say?

"Oh my God, he really is a faggot."

Kurt's head jerked to the side and he flashed his teeth at the man, not that he seemed to notice.

"Who knew Demo would turn out to be a pussy?"

"I never did think he was any good."

Never did think he was any good? That was the guy who'd been saying Dave would break the Seabirds' bones! Kurt clenched his fists angrily.

"What a fucking queer!"

Okay, that was it! Adrenaline rushing like he was on a damn field himself, Kurt turned, grabbing one of the mugs off the bar and throwing it down on the ground as hard as he could, the glass shattering. "Would you all SHUT the FUCK up?"

"Shit, Kurt!" Finn said, eyes widening as he stared down at the broken glass. "You need to calm down!"

Kurt ignored him, scowling deeply. He was sick of this! It was idiots like these fools who had made Dave's whole damn life miserable!

"What is *wrong* with you people? One second he's your goddamn hero and the next, he's a piece of trash because he likes guys?"

One particularly overweight, sweaty looking asshole shoved through the crowd, his lip curling up in disgust as he stared at Kurt, his whole attitude screaming 'I'M a BIG man now!', despite the fact that he was shorter than Kurt. Not to mention that he was just about as wide as he was tall. "So says the pretty boy! You gotta problem, faggot?" He raised his fists, his pudgy face twisting up. "Wanna fight it out like a real man?"

A loud wave of laughter went through the bar. "Since when are you a real man, Adam?" someone shouted, just making everyone laugh louder as the little fat man's face turned bright red.

"I can take him!"

"Oh, shut the hell up—game's starting! I wanna see if they put Karofsky in!"

It was like living in the land of ADD. In an instant everyone's eyes were back on the TV. The ugly asshole sneered at Kurt one more time, then flipped him the bird before he turned away, obviously trying to salvage what was little was left of his manhood.

"Coin toss is good for the home team, Bill. It looks like the coaches aren't angry enough at Karofsky's moves to bench him. And he's still wearing those crazy socks."

"Well, Tom, while I'm sure they're not too happy, benching him now would mean reworking every strategy they've planned."

"This is reminiscent of Redskin Sean Taylor wearing those striped socks in the 2005 game against the Eagles, Bill. He got, what, a $5,000 fine for that one?"

"As I remember it. But they were striped with team colors. He may get ten thou for this. Sock and colors violations."

"But really, what is the motivation for this?"

"I suppose this is his out and proud moment? I can't imagine what other motivation he could have, except maybe to rile people up."

"Oh, we just received word that we have a tweet from Karofsky on the sidelines." The man raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "It says, 'I'm wearing the suit, Fancy.'" He shook his head. "What in the world does that mean?"

"I have no idea, Tom. I guess the man likes a good suit?"

Wearing the suit… Kurt's breath caught. If that meant what he hoped it did, Dave could sure as hell wear the suit. Kurt would be glad to don the dress if it meant another chance with Dave.

There was a sudden buzzing in his pocket. Just when Kurt thought his heart couldn't pound any faster… He swallowed hard as he reached into his jacket, almost dropping his iPhone as he pulled it out. God, he couldn't remember the last time his palms had sweated. Deep breaths. Who would have thought looking at a text message could be so terrifying? Kurt almost didn't want to look. Please, please, please…

**1 TXT MSG FRM David:** I want it 2 be us 2. luv u.

Kurt choked, a smile spreading across his face even as tears rose in his eyes, a happiness so intense that it was almost painful coming over him. Was this what it felt like to win a game? Because Kurt had definitely scored on the field of love.

"I don't believe it, Karofsky ran it straight down the field, and it's a TOUCHDOWN!"

The bar burst into cheers and Kurt wiped at the tears in his eyes.

A touchdown, indeed.


	22. Epilogue: Overtime

**FYI**: FFN badly ruined the formatting of this story. If having some things look awkward will bother you, I suggest you read it at:

pucktheperv[dot]livejournal[dot]com[slash]tag[slash]homefieldadvantage

(replace bracketed words with the symbol)

******Author's Notes:** GAME OVER! Well, this is it guys! Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed-I hope you all enjoyed this little journey through Kurt and Dave's life. I really appreciate everyone who encouraged me and supported me-every one of you reviewers kick serious ass. For those of you interested in a .pdf version, I will try and put one together when I have the time, though since I have two other long-ass fics going on, it may take awhile. Once again, thanks for your support, I hope you enjoyed the fic!

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**Epilogue: Overtime  
**

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_One Year Later_

Kurt ran his fingers nervously over his collection of tiaras as he stared at his reflection in the vanity's mirror. It was almost like looking at a stranger—how in the world could he look so calm when, inside, he was practically ready to burst into song? If only life was more like a musical.

It was just amazing to realize that the day he'd been planning since he was six years old and had placed that first clipping from 'Bridal Beauties' into an old shoebox was finally here. Kurt Elizabeth Hummel was going to walk down the aisle.

He leaned forward, adding another dab of blush to his cheeks as he inspected his makeup. Perfect. It was perfect. Everything was going to be perfect.

"Oh my God, Kurt, you look so beautiful!" Rachel said, dabbing at her eyes in a dramatic fashion. Girls who could cry on cue were so annoying.

"You really do look fabulous, Kurt," Tina said, smiling brightly at him in the reflection in the mirror.

"Do you think so?" Kurt asked, feigning uncertainty as he touched his favorite tiara one last time then stood, moving to the center of the room to give a little twirl. The knee-length tails of his white tuxedo flew up behind him as he turned, dramatically striking a pose.

"Fabulous from your shiny white shoes to the flower on your lapel," Quinn said in amusement as she glanced over at Kurt before returning her attention back to the mirror, adjusting her bridesmaid's dress.

There was a sudden knock on the door and Dave's voice came from the hall. "Kurt, can I come in? I dunno how to tie this tie. I can't get the bow even. Remind me again why I couldn't just get one that clipped on?"

Kurt let out a squeal, practically leaping over one of the dressing room couches to hide behind it. "No you can't come in! It's bad luck for the groom to see the bride before the wedding, you dummy!"

Santana gave a soft snort and Kurt glared at her. "It's tradition, Santana!"

"Yeah and so is sacrificing a bull for good crops, but you don't much of that going on anymore."

The door handle rattled, an annoyed sigh coming from the hall when when the door refused to open. "C'mon, Kurt! I agreed to wear a white suit with a damn purple bow tie for you! Add in the gold flower and all the sports networks are gonna be joking that I got traded to the Minnesota Vikings! Can't you cut me a break?"

"At least he didn't make you wear tails," Santana called out a wicked look on her face. "His are so long they might as well be a bridle train."

Quinn stepped away from the mirror, looking as lovely as always, and headed toward the door, a soft smile on her face. "Don't worry, Dave, I'll help you, okay?" She flashed a grin at Kurt as she slipped out the door and Kurt relaxed, sighing as he climbed to his feet.

"Really, does no one have respect for wedding traditions anymore?"

"I know!" Rachel said, shaking her head. "It really is a crime! They didn't even say 'mazeltov' at my cousin's wedding!"

Kurt moved back over to the vanity, picking one of his tiaras and smiling at it. "Don't worry," he said, talking to the sparkly little crown like it was a baby. "You may not get to be in the wedding, but I am totally wearing you to the reception, sweetie. You didn't spend all those years in my hope chest for nothing!"

There was another knock at the door and Kurt jumped, scowling. For God's sake, tying a bow tie was *not* that hard! "For goodness' sake, David, it's just a bow! Hence the name 'bow-tie'! It is *not* rocket science!"

There was a chuckle from behind the door. "Um, actually, I think Dave figured out the bow tie. I was just gonna let you know that we're pretty much ready out here."

Kurt's scowl vanished, a big smile coming over his face as he rushed to the door, flinging it open. "Dad!" He reached out and practically yanked the man into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. "How do I look?" Kurt spun again and Burt shook his head, laughing.

"As crazy awesome as ever, kiddo." He nodded hello at the girls sitting on various sofas around the room. "Your bridesmaids," he stumbled slightly over the word 'bride,' "all ready to go?"

"No," came a flat voice from inside the curtained dressing area. "Dammit, Kurtsy, I thought you said they'd altered these damn things!" The curtain was flung aside as Katie practically stomped out, looking like the love child of Madonna and Xena, Warrior Princess. God help them all.

Burt's eyes widened, mouth dropping open as he took in Katie's attire, which insisted of half a bridesmaid gown and practically nothing on top, the lacy white bra she was wearing doing less to hide and more to display her huge rack.

"What are you looking at, Daddy-in-law?" she snapped when Burt continued to stare at her, making him flinch and quickly turn his back on her, obviously embarrassed.

Kurt rolled his eyes. "For heaven's sake, Katie, will you pull up your dress?" It was times like this that he *really* wished Mercedes was his maid of honor. The bachelorette party might not have been so crazy—Kurt still wasn't sure *how* Katie had gotten twenty male strippers to come to her house and give them lap dances and foot massages, and he had certainly appreciated the chance to lick chocolate off a really hot man's very cut abs—but there would definitely have been a lot less drama.

"It won't fit!" Katie shot back, glaring at Kurt. "Any ideas on how to fix the situation or are we going to have to pull a topless wedding? Maybe we can tell them that in Fairyland it's *traditional* for the maid of honor to wear no clothes?"

Burt winced and Kurt patted his arm comfortingly. "Don't worry, Dad. You'll only have to see her on holidays. I just think of her as my evil stepmother. And what would a fairy tale be without an evil stepmother." He turned his attention back to Katie, who was making throat-slitting motions at him, apparently completely unconcerned that it made her look like a ten year old who hadn't gotten her afternoon snack.

There was a reason she and Dave were BFFs.

"Katie," he said very calmly, wishing for the thousandth time that Dave had agreed to let the girl wear a suit and be the best man. While he appreciated the woman's deep devotion to Dave and certainly didn't mind all the discounts he got at salons and makeup counters due to her cheerleader connections, sometimes she drove him crazy. Sometimes, of course, being 99% of the time. How someone could be so pretty yet want to do nothing but watch action movies from the '90s and pretend to get drunk on wine at fancy parties so she could loudly insult the host was beyond him. "I am pretty sure they got your measurements correct at the fitting…"

"I was wearing a different bra," Katie said flatly, an annoyed look on her face. "This morning I broke a strap on the one I was wearing at the fitting. It was my reduction bra."

"I guess life is tough for the ladies that God gifted with curves," Rachel said, frowning a little as she glanced down at her own rather flat chest.

Katie made a rude noise, shaking her head. "God gifted, my ass. They're fakers, Berry. Did you really think I'm 5'7" a hundred and fifteen pounds and a natural double D? It was the worst decision I ever made. I was eighteen years old, wanted to be America's Sweetheart, and barely wore an A. I called the doc, said 'fill em up' and my back has been aching ever since. Now someone come help me squeeze the girls into this thing in a way that doesn't look like I'm waiting for my fellow porn star to come along and splatter his man-juice all over my titties."

Santana laughed and stood, moving toward the dressing area. "I'll help. I have experience in the area. You're not the only one with sandbags for boobies."

"Oh my God," Burt murmured, his face an interesting shade of red as the girls disappeared behind the curtain.

Kurt laughed, shaking his head. "Don't worry, Dad. She's all bark and, well, not *no* bite, but I've known her for a year now and have yet to see her make good on any of her threats to remove a man's testicles with her teeth." He smirked. "Just try not to piss her off. She's as mean as she is pretty."

"Dave was married to that?" Burt muttered as he turned back around, looking a little appalled.

"I think he has a thing for divas." Kurt giggled, doing a little dance and clapping his hands together. "Oh, Dad, I am so excited! Can you believe that, in a few minutes, you're going to be walking me down the aisle? Isn't this just everything you've ever dreamed of?"

Burt laughed and reached out, hugging his son tightly. "Well, I have to admit that I hadn't really pictured walking my *son* down the aisle but, yeah. This is really awesome, Kurt. Really awesome." Kurt's heart sped up as his dad lay a gentle kiss on top of his head. "Maybe even better than I dreamed of."

Kurt hugged his father back, a flood of emotions rushing through him. Love, excitement, just a little bit of fear. But good fear. Very good fear. The kind of fear that made for amazing weddings. And honeymoons, too.

And Kurt just knew, deep down, that he was about to live happily ever after.

o o o

Dave wondered idly if he would forever equate the tune of 'Here Comes the Bride' with an urgent need to wet his pants. He had managed to hold it in at the rehearsal, thank God, but he wasn't so sure he'd manage when Kurt came walking down that aisle for real.

God, the purple bow tie around his neck felt like it was trying to choke him. He had to resist the urge to tug at it. Dave took a deep breath, rubbing his palms against the legs of his trousers just for something to do with his hands.

It felt like he was back at his first Superbowl, waiting to run out onto that field, his veins filled with liquid adrenaline, high on the rush of energy and excitement and fear. It had been amazing and terrifying, yet somehow this was even more amazing—and maybe a little more terrifying, too.

The church was packed with people. Dave's parents had actually come, though his dad had a rather sour look on his face and he was pretty sure his mom was embarrassed to even be there. Apparently gay weddings were not kosher. Carole was sitting next to them, Finn up on stage with Dave, dressed neatly in an attractive gray suit that Kurt had obviously picked out for him. A couple of Dave's teammates were there—he'd already gotten a couple of snarky comments about his bow tie—and even Coach Bieste had come, something that really made him smile. She had said she wouldn't miss it for a world of flamingo tarts.

The little white chapel was decorated beautifully—not that it was any surprise since Kurt had decided to do all the wedding planning himself. There were vases of gold and lilac roses everywhere and some sort of airy white material draped over just about everything. The sun shining in through the stained glass windows at the back of the church sent a rainbow of colors dancing over everything, adding a touch of whimsy to the place. There was even a pair of doves in an antique looking bird cage, for them to release after the ceremony. Supposedly. Considering that Kurt had named them Audrey and Barbara and spent the last week fluffing their feathers and feeding them seeds, Dave thought they might have just acquired some new pets. Overall, everything was perfect for their fairy tale wedding, gay jokes totally intended.

Dave licked his lips nervously, glancing over at his best man. Azimio gave him a wicked smile that brought back a couple of flashes of the nutso things they'd done at the bachelor party last night. At least, Dave assumed they'd done them at the bachelor party last night. It was kind of just a big blank in his mind. He was pretty sure two strip clubs, a slip n' slide, and a toy poodle had been involved but, other than that, it was all blackness.

"Just relax, bro," Azimio murmured, mouth hardly moving. "Deep breaths. You'll live. I did. Just concentrate on not pissing your pants, okay? It'll show up real good on those white trousers you're wearing. I *told* you to invest in some Depends."

Dave gave a nervous little chuckle as his friend reached out and squeezed his shoulder. It would all be good.

There was a creaking as the doors of the sanctuary began to open and the man playing the organ—Brad, Dave thought his name was?—started a slow but cheerful song, the bridesmaids appearing in the entry.

God, he couldn't believe this was actually happening.

All of the girls looked lovely in their violet dresses, the long, frilly bustles on the back adding a formal look to what otherwise could have been called a minidress. Katie came out first, looking like she was caught between an urge to take the stage and hunt a moose, her blonde hair done up in elaborate curls with a gold rose stuck amongst them. She looked beautiful, though Dave doubted many people would be noticing her beauty considering the fact that her boobs were stealing the show as they practically popped out of her neckline. Every one of the girls looked equally gorgeous in their own way, from Santana's authoritative walk to Quinn's ephemeral beauty to Tina's sweet smile to Rachel's… well, they couldn't all win.

If Dave was a straight man he would totally have a boner.

Finally the seemingly endless sea of violet loveliness finished making its way onto the stage, lining up next to one another opposite the groomsmen. Dave took another steadying breath. This was it. The time was here.

The organ started up again and the first notes of 'Here Comes the Bride,' better known to married men as the 'I-Almost-Peed-My-Pants' song, began to play.

Dave sucked in a sharp breath as Kurt, his arm linked with his father's, started down the aisle. It was like looking at an angel.

Dave wasn't sure he had ever seen anything so beautiful. Kurt looked gorgeous dressed in his fancy-schmancy white and gold suit with its long tails down past his knees a fancy gold and purple scarf tied at his neck and tucked into his coat. There was a dusting of gold in his hair that shimmered in the light and his lips were much too pink to be natural. In a very delicious way, of course. God, he looked like fucking Prince Charming, even if he would have preferred to be the Disney princess. The glamour of it all made Dave look sort of plain Jane, just dressed in a normal white suit and shirt, the purple bow-tie the only thing that really popped. But it wasn't as if he cared. Fabulous was not his thing and he could not keep his eyes off of Kurt.

Burt's eyes looked suspiciously bright as he led his son up on stage, giving Dave a tight but genuine smile as he helped Kurt up the steps, the last strain of the wedding march coming to an end.

A door on the far side of the stage a door opened and Mercedes stepped out, dressed in her clergy attire, smiling widely at both of them as she moved into the pulpit, raising her hands in welcome to to everyone in the chapel, her rich voice filling the room.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we are gathered here today, in love and harmony, to celebrate the joining of two people in joyous matrimony. To behold, on this day, in loyalty and love, the joining of Kurt Hummel and Dave Karofsky, that they shall be one forever."

Dave licked his lips again, smiling at Kurt though his heart was pounding like never before, blood rushing through him.

"And who, this day, presents this man to be wed?" Mercedes questioned, smiling widely at Burt.

"I do," the man replied solemnly, his voice cracking a little. "I present this man, my son, to be wed."

Dave stomach exploded in butterflies as Burt carefully placed Kurt's hand in Dave's, giving his shoulder a brief squeeze before he moved back to take his seat next to Carole.

"And I, this day, present *this* man to be wed," Katie spoke up, a slightly wicked grin on her face as she moved over to plant a little kiss on Dave's cheek.

Dave held back a chuckle, shaking his head at her as she returned to her place amongst the bridesmaids.

"Al right then," Mercedes said, sounding amused. "These *two* men are presented to be wed, before family and friends, on this day. If anyone has any objections to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace."

Dave glanced across the chapel, smiling tightly at his father. Paul took a deep breath then returned the smile with one of his own. It was a start, at least. No objections were good.

"Before us all, on this beautiful day, the grooms will now speak their vows."

The time had come. Dave swallowed hard, really hoping he'd even be able to speak. His mind was rushing so fast he could barely remember where he was. God, he *really* wished he could look at the notecard in his pocket. But no. If he had managed it sixty-four times in the bathroom mirror, he could manage it now.

"I, Dave Karofsky, do take this man to be my wedded husband, that I may learn from his courage and grow in his strength. From the day I laid eyes on Kurt, I was fascinated with his beauty and his pride. Now, this didn't always lead to *good* things," there was a smattering of laughter, "but in the end, I wouldn't change our rocky road for anything. It was an exciting game and, in the end, we both won. You wouldn't think that a man of Kurt's size could sweep a big guy like me off of his feet, but he is larger than life and always has been. I can't imagine anyone else I would rather spend my life with. So just know, Kurt Hummel, that I am no poet, but I love you more than I could ever express in words, and that I want to be with you forever."

Dave let out his breath in a whoosh, squeezing Kurt's hand as the man dabbed tears from his eyes with the handkerchief he'd pulled from his pocket, his voice a little shaky as he began to speak.

"I, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, take this man to be my wedded husband, the love of my life, to spend every day with for the rest of our lives." He sniffed a little, smiling a little sadly at Dave. "As a child I lost one of the people I loved the most. Though I know my mother is here in spirit and in my heart, watching over me, I still wish I could just look over and see her sitting there in that front pew." He dabbed his eyes again. "Because of that loss I spent many years trying my best to keep myself safe by holding back my love. A lot of princes brought heartfelt gifts and generous offerings in hopes that I would lower the bridge to the castle of my heart and let them in. But it took a strong knight, willing to swim my trenches and tear down my walls with the brute strength of his selflessness and love to get me down from my self-imposed tower. And that knight is you, Dave, my one true love. You taught me that love is worth the risk, because even if you passed away tomorrow I would still be grateful for every moment I had with you. Together we are so much more than we are alone. May we rule forever in love and joy."

Dave blinked rapidly trying to hold back his own tears as he smiled down at Kurt, feeling like his heart was about to explode with happiness.

"If you will now present the rings."

Azimio stepped forward, offering Dave a small velvet box with two rings, one a simple gold band and the other a slim band of diamonds.

Mercedes smiled at them. "Rings are an outward and visible sign of commitment to one another, that these two men be bound together for eternity, just as a ring must first be formed of metal but will then last forever, representing an unbroken circle of love and signifying to all the marriage of these two men in glorious union."

Dave swallowed hard as he picked up the little diamond ring, breath catching as Kurt held out his slim hand again and Dave took it, gently caressing those long fingers.

"Do you, David Karofsky, take this man, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, to have and to hold in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, forsaking all others for as long as you both shall live?"

Dave gave a little laugh as he smiled down at Kurt, stomach fluttering as he somehow managed to slip the ring onto the other man's hand without dropping it, despite his shaking grip. "I do," he whispered, then said it again, louder. "I do."

"Do you, Kurt Elizabeth Hummel, take this man, David Karofsky, to have and to hold in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, forsaking all others for as long as you both shall live?"

Kurt gave him an enormous smile as he slid the gold band onto Dave's finger. "I absolutely do."

"By the power vested in me by God," Mercedes winked, "and by Mr. Kurt Hummel, I now pronounce you husbands. You may now kiss your love."

Dave smiled harder than he ever had in his life as Kurt wrapped his arms around his neck, lifting his slim body up on his tippy toes to press his lips to Dave's, kissing him deeply, and Dave knew for certain that they would always love one another.

For as long as they both shall live. Like a wedding topper. But way sexier.


End file.
